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SALT  LAKE  CITY,  UTAH 


GERTRUDE  MAJOR. 


The  Revelation  in  the 
Mountain 

OCT  :-!  1917 


GERTRUDE  KEENE   MAJOR 


With  an  introduction  by 

JUDGE  C.  C.  GOODWIN 


COCHRANE  PUBLISHING  CO. 

NEW  YORK 
1909 


These  stories  are  reprinted  by  the  courtesy  of  the  "Salt  Lake  Tribi 
and  "The  Pacific  Monthly  Magazine." 


CONTENTS, 

I — The  Revelation  in  the  Mountain       7 

// — The  Day  of  His  Judgment  1/ 

III — The  Thread  of  Scarlet  28 

IV — The  Garment  of  Salvation  j8 

V — The  Isles  That  Wait  48 

VI— A  first  Wife  57 

VII — The  House  of  Bondage  72 

VIII— When  Celia  Rang  the  Bell  81 

IX — The  Sins  of  the  Father  8p 

X — The  Hornet's  Nest  P7 

XI — What  Christ  Woidd  Find  104 

XII — Rise  of  the  Mormons  115 

XIII — The  Oath  of  Vengeance  120 


TO  THE  AMERICAN  PARTY, 

which  is  striving  to  bring  the  majesty  of  the  Country's  law  to 
despotic  Utah,  this  volume  is  respectfully  dedicated  by 

THE  AUTHOR. 


FOREWORD  BY  JUDGE  GOODWIN. 

When  the  Mormons  first  came  to  Utah  they  were 
embittered  against  the  government  of  the  United 
States,  and  it  seemed  to  be  the  purpose  of  the  few  men 
who  controlled  the  organization  to  keep  alive  and  in- 
tensify that  bitterness.  Then  polygamy,  which  had 
been  long  practised  in  Nauvoo,  was  openly  promulgated 
by  Brigham  Young  as  a  divine  ordinance — the  only  rite 
which  secured  perfect  exaltation  to  the  spirits  of  mor- 
tals, after  the  death  of  the  body  here.  To  carry  this 
out  cruelties  unspeakable  were  perpetrated.  Then,  too, 
all  who  did  not  indorse  the  system  were  held  as  ene- 
mies, and  the  rank  and  file  were  taught  that  such  peo- 
ple were  enemies  of  their  church  and  were  seeking  to 
oppress  the  elect  because  of  their  religious  beliefs. 
Under  such  a  leader  as  Brigham  Young,  in  the  deso- 
lation of  this  then  wilderness,  atrocities  unspeakable 
were  committed.  Moreover,  Brigham  Young  kept  a 
band  of  blood-atoners  always  in  call  and  enemies  were 
put  out  of  the  way.  There  is  enough  in  the  sermons 
preached  in  those  days,  in  the  acts  performed,  which 
are  still  in  the  memories  of  old  residents,  and  in  the 
skeletons  found  in  excavating  cellars  in  Salt  Lake  City 
to  corroborate  all  that  is  said  here  and  to  show  that 
the  contents  of  this  book  make  clear  the  spirit  which 
ruled  Utah  for  thirty  years  after  1847. 

The  justification  for  publishing  it  now  is  that  when 
the  barbarism  which  ruled  here  was  sufficiently  beaten 
back  to  make  it  clear  that  the  chiefs  of  this  people  saw 
disfranchisement  immediately  before  them,  they 
pledged  the  government  and  the  Gentiles  of  Utah  that 


henceforth  the  political  rule  which  they  had  always 
held  over  their  people  should  cease,  and  that  polygamy 
should  be  abolished.  Upon  that  they  obtained  state- 
hood. 

That  brought  peace  and  such  contentment  and  hap- 
piness as  had  never  been  known  here  before.  But  it 
lasted  only  for  a  brief  season.  All  the  old  wrongs 
were  resumed  within  two  years.  Many  of  the  highest 
officers  of  the  church  took  new  polygamous  wives  and 
the  rule  over  the  political  beliefs  of  the  Mormon  peo- 
ple was  reestablished  in  all  its  old  tyranny.  Never  was 
this  more  fully  exemplified  than  in  the  election  here  in 
the  present  month.  Through  that  rule  the  senators 
who  represent  Utah  in  Washington  were  elected, 
through  that  rule  the  senior  senator,  an  apostle  in  the 
dominant  church,  names  every  state  officer  in  Utah. 

That  the  President  of  the  United  States  looks  on  this 
with  approval  and  uses  the  influence  of  his  great  office 
to  continue  the  tyranny  and  the  shame,  does  not  matter. 
He  cannot  create  a  code  which  will  justify  turning  back 
civilization  for  a  thousand  years,  and  establishing  in 
this  land  a  despotism  Asiatic  in  all  its  attributes.  An 
apostle  of  the  church  stated  in  a  recent  conference, 
where  were  gathered  thousands  of  trusting  Mormons, 
that  not  one  principle,  not  one  tenet  of  the  original  faith 
had  ever  been  relinquished.  That  the  men  and  women 
of  the  United  States  may  realize  what  the  system  nat- 
urally leads  to  when  unrestrained,  the  publication  of 
this  book  is  justified. 

C.  C.  Goodwin. 

November  17,  1908. 


THE  REVELATION  IN  THE  MOUNTAIN, 


THE  REVELATION  IN  THE  MOUNTAIN. 

The  Gentile  lady  sat  on  the  Mormon  lady's  cool, 
vine-screened  porch,  and  rocked  gently  back  and  forth 
over  the  creaking,  warped  old  floor.  She  was  embroid- 
ering a  centerpiece  in  a  lily-of-the-valley  design,  and 
listening,  interestedly,  to  the  gentle  talk  of  her  hostess. 

Their  friendship  had  been  formed  shortly  after  the 
Gentile  had  moved  to  Salt  Lake  City,  in  the  "breaking 
up"  of  the  spring.  She  had  been  taken  very  ill,  and 
her  doctor  had  recomm.ended  Anne  Smedgely  as  a 
master  hand  at  nursing. 

A  master  hand  she  had  proved  to  be,  who  devoted 
all  her  time  and  energies  to  her  patient  as  long  as  she 
had  need  of  her  services,  and  had  then  gone  quietly 
back  to  her  little  adobe  house,  with  its  three  drab- 
colored  front  doors  opening  from  its  three  drab-colored 
front  rooms  on  to  the  long,  sagging  front  porch,  with 
its  redeeming  drapery  of  green  vines. 

The  Gentiles  had  been  very  grateful  to  their  neigh- 
bors. To  Elder  Reber,  who,  when  he  had  heard  of  her 
illness,  had  sent  his  entire  assortment  of  wives  to  her 
assistance,  and  to  Bishop  Horner,  who  had  called  to 
leave  a  book  on  the  Faith  and  a  basket  of  fruit,  and 
most  of  all  to  gentle  old  Anne. 

7 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

The  neighborhood  into  which  the  Gentiles  had 
moved  was  in  the  older  portion  of  the  city,  and  their 
neighbors  were  all  devotees  of  the  Temple.  They  had 
learned  later  that  the  Gentiles,  who  of  recent  years  had 
flocked  in  such  numbers  to  the  ''garden,"  had  built 
their  homes  to  the  north  and  east  of  the  city. 

*'But,"  the  Gentile  lady  had  said  to  her  husband,  in 
discussing  their  location,  "no  people  could  have  been 
more  kind,  and  just  as  soon  as  I  am  well  enough  I 
shall  go  to  see  them,  just  as  I  should  if  they  were 
Methodists." 

Her  husband's  eyes  twinkled.  ''\\\\\  you  call  on 
them  separately  or  ensemble?"  he  asked. 

'T  don't  know  just  how  I  shall  manage  the  Rebers," 
his  wife  said,  laughing;  "but  there  is  only  one  of  Mrs. 
Smedgely,  you  know." 

"I  wonder  why?  Her  husband  is  one  of  the  old 
school  of  saints ;  an  elder,  or  something,"  her  husband 
said,  adding:    "Why  don't  you  ask  her?" 

"Some  day  I  may,"  the  Gentile  lady  answered  seri- 
ously. "I  love  to  hear  her  talk.  When  I  was  suffering 
her  talk  soothed  me  like  an  opiate." 

To-day,  when  she  sat  and  embroidered,  and  old 
Anne  rocked  and  knit,  she  ventured  the  question  tact- 
fully: "Does  a  woman  feel  right — er — happy  after — 
if  her  husband  marries  another  wife?" 

Anne  laughed ;  her  laugh,  like  her  talking-voice,  had 
a  peculiarly  pleasant  sound. 

"Polygamy  was  one  of  the  most  sacred  teachings  of 
our  faith,"  she  said.  "But  the  way  women  feel  about 
it,  that  depends  on  the  individual." 

"But,"  and  the  gentle  Gentile  blushed  a  deep,  shamed 
red,  "is  it,  can  it  be  true  that — that — it  was  the  custom 

8 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

for — for  the  last  wife  to  bathe  the  next  wife's  feet,  as 
a  sign  of  submission  to  the  law  of  the  church  ?" 

'True  enough,"  assented  Anne   cheerfully. 

"But  can  any  woman,  no  matter  what  her  faith,  do 
such  an  unnatural  thing  willingly  ?" 

Anne  laughed  at  her  earnestness.  "That  depends  on 
the  individual,  too,"  she  said.  "I  mind  when  Sister 
S'lomy's  husband  brought  his  second  wife  home.  They 
live  over  there  'cross  the  street ;  no,  not  in  that  house, 
that's  Pages ;  in  the  one  next,  that  old  one,  the  one  with 
the  three  doors  (the  door  this  way  is  S'lomy's  apart- 
ment). Well,  as  I  said,  S'lomy  an'  him  had  lived  so 
long  alone  together,  that  S'lomy  had  got  sorter  uppity, 
and  made  some  brags;  so,  when  Brother  Sam  came 
back  from  Moab,  fetchin'  a  new  wife,  we  wondered 
how  Sister  S'lomy'd  take  it.  She  came  over  for  a 
wettin'  of  tea  the  very  next  mornin',  an'  I  couldn't  for- 
bear askin'  her  teasin'  like,  'Well,  Sister  S'lomy,  have 
you  washed  the  new  sister's  feet?' 

''S'lomy  always  bites  off  her  words  short  when  she 
is  riled.  'Yes,'  she  snaps,  'I  washed  her  feet,  but  T 
slapped  her  face,  too.'  " 

The  Gentile  looked  up  from  her  embroidery  with  un- 
certain questioning  into  Anne's  humorous  old  face,  then 
she  threw  back  her  head  and  laughed  until  the  tears 
rolled  down  her  cheeks.  Anne  joined  somewhat  hesi- 
tatingly in  her  mirth. 

"Some  don't  feel  so,"  she  said  deprecatingly. 
"S'lomy  is  dreadful  spirited." 

"She  must  be,"  agreed  the  lady.  She  hesitated,  and 
blushed  again.    "But  you " 

"Oh,  me,"  Anne  said;  then  was  silent.  Dropping 
her  knitting  in  her  lap,  she  folded  her  hard,  work-cal- 

9 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

loused  hands  one  over  the  other  in  her  lap,  and  sat 
looking  with  dreamy  intentness  at  the  mountains,  which 
rose  above  them  like  a  serried,  broken  wall  around  the 
city.  The  Gentile's  eyes  followed  hers  up  the  rugged 
sides,  and  rested  on  a  deep,  shadowy  canon,  running 
like  a  scar  down  the  side  of  the  mountain. 

**There,  up  that  hollow — clear  on — farther  yet  than 
that  big  boulder,  clear  past  that  point  where  you  see 
them  red  shadows — there  is  where  I  had  my  revela- 
tion," said  old  Anne,  "an'  it's  because  of  that,"  with  a 
look  at  once  sad  and  triumphant,  "that  I  have  been 
Jonas'  only  wife."  She  picked  up  her  knitting  and  knit 
off  two  or  three  needles  before  she  spoke  again.  "I  was 
born  here  in  Salt  Lake.  My  mother  pushed  a  hand- 
cart across  the  plains  in  '56  to  get  here.  It  is  the  same 
garden  that  Adam  and  Eve  was  put  out  of,  you  know." 
Her  visitor  nodded,  and  Anne  went  on :  "My  father 
was  a  bishop  in  the  church ;  he  had  seven  wives  and 
forty  children.  We  were  very  poor ;  it  looked  some  in 
the  early  years  that  we  was  all  to  starve.  We  children 
all  started  to  work,  almost  as  soon  as  we  could  walk, 
for  our  keep.  One  of  my  brothers  went  with  a  man  to 
Pueblo.  He  came  back  when  I  was  about  fourteen, 
and  came  to  see  me  at  the  place  I  was  workin'  at.  He 
was  the  first  to  tell  me  about  other  people  and  ways 
than  our  own.  I  went  to  walk  with  him  down  by  the 
Jordan  River,  and  when  we  was  standin'  on  the  bridge, 
lookin'  up  toward  the  mountains,  he  told  me  about 
Pueblo,  how  it  was  there.  There  was  only  one  woman 
for  every  man,  he  said  (here  in  Salt  Lake  there  were 
seven),  and  not  many  children,  and,  he  said,  lookin' 
down  at  my  chapped,  bare  feet  (I  hadn't  no  shoes — yes. 
though  it  was  late  fall  and  there  was  black  frost  on 

10 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

the  bridge),  not  any  of  them  went  barefoot,  but  all 
had  shoes,  an'  scarce  any  of  them  went  workin',  even 
them  that  was  bigger  than  him  an'  me.  I  felt  a  kind 
of  choking  feelin',  kind  of  like  my  heart  was  swelling 
up,  or  something.  I  was  still  looking  at  the  mountain, 
because  all  the  time  Artie  was  talkin'  I  kept  seein'  the 
strangest  thing. 

''Seemed  as  if  there  was  a  procession  of  people  walk- 
in'  on  an'  on  up  the  canon ;  a  man  an'  a  woman,  a  man 
an'  a  woman.  There  didn't  seem  to  be  no  beginning, 
or  no  end,  but  always  those  two,  side  by  side,  a  man  an' 
a  woman. 

"When  I  spoke  my  voice  sounded  queer,  for  it  felt 
like  my  heart  was  moving  up,  almost  in  my  throat, 
choking  me. 

"  'Artie,'  I  says,  'that  is  the  way  I  am  goin'  to  do, 
when  I  get  married ;  I'm  goin'  to  be  the  only  one ;  I 
won't  have  no  sisters,  an'  all  my  children  are  goin'  to 
have  shoes.' 

"  'Some  folks  do,'  Artie  said. 

"I  had  to  haste  back  to  work,  but  as  I  was  goin'  I 
looked  back  to  the  hills  once,  an'  I  could  still  see  them, 
them  men  an'  women.  'I'll  be  like  that,'  I  says 
aloud ;  it  was  a  sort  of  prayer  an'  a  promise. 

"The  next  year  I  married  Jonas,  and  the  next  (when 
I  was  sixteen)  I  had  twin  babies.  I  thanked  God  for 
two  things ;  that  they  was  boys,  an'  that  there  was  two 
of  them.  I  don't  want  to  say  anything  against  God 
(He  has  interceded  for  me,  weak,  sinful  woman  that 
I  am),  but  when  I  was  sufferin'  my  first  agony,  I  says 
to  Jonas,  says  I,  'Any  one  would  know  God  was  a 
man,  or  He  wouldn't  a  made  it  so  fearful  hard  on 
women.'     Jonas   is   a  terrible   religious  man,   an'   he 

II 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

turned  white  when  I  said  that.  'Don't,  Anne,'  he  fairly 
begged ;  'don't  talk  so,  an'  I'll  do  anything  in  the  world 
for  you.' 

"  Then,'  says  I,  seeing  my  advantage,  'promise  that 
you'll  never  take  another  wife,  not  while  I  live.  The 
children  I'm  willin'  to  bear — for  you  an'  the  glory  of 
Zion,  but  I'll  let  no  other  woman  bear  them  for  you.' 
I  guess  I  was  gettin'  some  fevered,  for  I  see  Sister 
Sary,  who  was  waitin'  on  me,  motion  to  him,  an'  he 
says,  quick  like,  *No,  Anne,  there  never  will' 

'*I  rested  on  his  word,  an'  every  time  my  children 
came  I  prayed  there  would  be  two  of  them,  at  once. 
When  we  had  been  married  six  years  we  had  five  chil- 
dren, two  pair  of  twin  boys  an'  my  little  Maidie. 
Maidie  was  about  six  months  old  when  Sister  Julia 
come  over  one  mornin'  an'  says,  seemed  kind  of  spite- 
ful like,  'Brother  Jonas  has  a  new  wife ;  I  seen  them 
down  street.  You'll  have  to  get  at  an'  freshen  up  the 
east  rooms  for  her.    He'll  fetch  her  home  to-night.' 

"I  had  my  Maidie  in  my  lap.  I  was  knittin'  a  sock 
for  Jonas,  an'  she  kept  grabbin'  at  the  needles,  an' 
cooin'.  I  could  hear  her  coo  right  through  Sister 
Julia's  words.  It  seemed  as  though  she  had  been  talk- 
in'  an'  lookin'  at  me  hours,  an'  that  she  had  said 
everything. 

*'I  picked  the  baby  up  in  my  arms  (she  seemed  like 
she  was  so  heavy,  all  at  once,  that  I  could  scarcely  lift 
her)  an'  made  my  way  to  the  door.  I  called  to  Sister 
S'lomy's  Beda,  who  was  standin'  in  their  door ;  I  had 
to  call  three  or  four  times  before  she  heard,  my  lips 
was  so  hard  an'  stiff. 

"Sister  Julia  looked  at  me,  an'  says :  'You  must  have 
a  sore  throat,  Anne.' 

12 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

"'Why?'  I  said. 

"  'Because  your  voice  sounds  so  queer,'  she  made 
answer. 

"I  said  no  word  to  her,  but  spoke  to  Httle  Beda,  who 
had  just  come  in.  'Beda,'  says  I,  'I'll  give  you  two 
pieces  of  ginger  cake  if  you  stay  an'  mind  Maidie  for 
me.'  Sister  S'lomy's  was  powerful  poor  them  days,  an' 
the  children  wasn't  used  to  sweetened  dough,  so  she 
promised  joyful.  I  gave  her  ^laidie,  an',  not  stoppin' 
to  say  a  single  word  to  Sister  Julia,  or  to  put  an}thing 
on  my  head,  I  ran  out,  an'  fast  as  I  could  run,  I  rushed 
on  out  to  the  river  ,  on  up  the  canon  where,  when  Artie 
an'  me  had  talked  that  day,  I  had  sensed  the  vision 
of  them  men  an'  women.  I  didn't  know  why  I  went, 
but  something  made  me.  I  ran,  an'  cried  out  wild 
things  as  I  went.  The  sharp  rocks  an'  briers  caught 
at  my  hands  an'  dress,  but  I  felt  no  hurt.  I  was  wild, 
but  sure,  sure  that  I  would  see  something.  I  didn't 
know  what,  but  something  that  would  take  that  awful 
feelin'  out  of  my  heart. 

*T  went  on,  rushin'  up  an'  up.  It  almost  seemed  as 
if  I  was  gettin'  closer  to  God.  When  I  got  to  the  top, 
clear  up  where  the  snow^  never  melts,  where  I  could 
make  Him  hear,  I  would  ask  Him  what  He  meant.  I 
wouldn't  have  felt  no  fear — not  of  the  whole  host  of 
heaven — not  then. 

"I  never  got  to  the  top,  though;  I  fell  down  just 
when  I  got  to  the  snaw-hne.  I  tried  to  get  up,  but  I 
couldn't.  My  heart  seemed,  all  at  once,  to  just 
close  up  my  breath.  I  couldn't  so  much  as  lift  my 
hand. 

"I  looked  up,  into  the  sparklin',  dazzlin'  brightness 
of  the  mountain-top,  an'  I  saw  them  again !    The  same 

13 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

procession — a  man  an'  a  woman,  a  man  an'  a  woman! 
They  seemed,  somehow,  to  be  dressed  in  the  Hght — I'd 
admire  to  make  it  clear  to  you  if  I  could — I  could  see 
the  sun,  an'  the  blue  shadows  back  of  them,  but  I 
sensed  them  plain. 

*'An' — an'  then  I  heard  a  voice,  deep  an'  soothin' ;  it 
was  sayin'  part  of  the  last  Sunday's  readin',  'Lo,  I 
am  with  ye  alway,  even  unto  the  end.'  I  began  to 
breathe,  soft  an'  easy,  just  as  my  Maidie  did  when  she 
dropped,  smilin',  to  sleep ;  an'  it  seemed  that  a  wind, 
soft  an'  sweet  as  her  breath,  came  gently  down  the 
canon,  an'  that  voice,  sweet  as  the  cooin'  of  doves, 
spoke  in  it,  so  low  I  could  scarce  hear  it,  but  I  knew 
who  it  was,  an'  got  my  comfort.    I  went  to  sleep. 

"When  I  woke  it  was  dark ;  no  moon  or  stars,  but 
pitchy  black.  I  couldn't  find  my  way,  so  bided  'til 
sunup.  It  wasn't  long  until  I  see  her  comin',  like  a 
lovely  lady,  I  thought,  throwin'  off  the  night  covers. 
I  stayed  to  watch  her  dress  (I  was  full  of  fancies,  an' 
happy).  First  she  put  on  soft,  pinky  petticoats,  but 
they  didn't  suit  her,  so  she  threw  them  away — up  in  the 
sky — an'  kept  puttin'  on  others,  brighter  an'  brighter, 
until  she  got  a  flamin'  red,  an'  then  she  put  on  a  dress 
of  gold,  that  made  me  glad,  some  way,  as  if  she  had 
put  it  on  for  me. 

''Then  I  went  home. 

"When  I  got  back  to  my  house  I  crept  up  soft  an' 
looked  in  the  east  window.  She  was  there.  She  was 
just  a  young  thing,  nothing  but  a  child.  She  was 
asleep,  but  I  could  see  that  she  had  been  crying ;  there 
was  a  pinched  look  about  her  mouth  an'  red  spots,  like 
fever  marks,  on  her  cheeks.  I  knew  she  didn't  love 
Jonas,  an'  a  feelin'  almost  tender  come  over  me  for  her. 

14 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

I  thought  of  my  Maidie,  an'  I  says,  soft  an'  low,  *My 
poor  girl !' 

'Then  I  walked  around  an'  opened  the  door. 

"Jonas  looked  up,  his  face  like  snow.  'Anne,'  says 
he,  chokin',  'Anne?' 

"  'Yes,  it's  Anne,'  I  said,  smilin'. 

"  'Where  ?'  says  he,  'where  in  God's  name  have  you 
been?' 

"  'Up  in  the  mountains,  where  all  prophets  go,'  I 
says.     'I've  had  a  revelation.' 

"Jonas  looked  at  me,  his  face  whiter  than  ever.  'You 
look,'  he  said,  'as  though  you'd  been  to  heaven.' 

"  'I  ain't,'  I  says,  'but  I  think  I  have  almost  seen  its 
door.' 

"I  sat  down  by  him  an'  held  his  hand;  it  shook  just 
like  old  Bishop  Farnley's,  who  had  palsy.  I  told  him 
ail  Fd  seen  an'  heard.  'For  them  that  don't  sense  sin,' 
I  said,  'maybe  it  ain't  sin,  but  for  us,  Fve  sensed  it, 
an'  if  we  go  higher,  we  must  go  just  us  alone.  Fve 
seen,  an'  the  path  is  only  Vvade  enough  for  two.'  " 

The  voice  of  old  Anne  trembled  away  into  silence. 

The  Gentile  lady  looked  at  her  forgotten  embroidery 
with  eyes  that  saw  the  familiar  pattern  as  from  a  long 
distance.  She  tried  to  match  the  green  of  a  leaf,  which 
blurred  and  widened  grotesquely  in  the  mist  through 
which  she  looked.  She  could  not  speak,  and,  for  the 
moment,  dared  not  look  at  old  Anne,  but  she  felt,  from 
an  inner  sense,  a  reflection  of  the  light  on  the  old 
woman's  face,  with  her  remembering  eyes  turned  to  the 
silent  m.ajesty  of  the  abiding  hills. 

The  story  needed  but  a  sentence  to  complete  it.  It 
was  added  presently,  after  the  knitting  had  been  re- 
sumed, with  a  patient  sigh,  as  from  one  who  has  seen 

15 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

the  heights  and  descended  again  to  the  valley  of  life. 
"I  said  to  Jonas,  'Jonas,'  said  I,  'that  little  girl  in 
there  will  be  our  daughter.  You  mind?'  An'  Jonas 
said,  speakin'  slow  an'  solemn  as  if  it  was  meetin', 
'She  won't  ever  be  anything  else.' " 


i6 


II. 

THE  DAY  OF  HIS  JUDGMENT. 

The  way  of  peace  they  know  not;  and  there  Is  no  judg- 
ment in  their  goings ;  they  have  made  them  crooked  paths ; 
whosoever  goeth  therein  shall  not  know  peace. — Isaiah  lix.  8. 


In  a  tumble-down,  decaying  house,  which  looks  down 
on  the  river  Jordan,  winding  like  a  soiled  gray  ribbon 
at  the  bottom  of  the  hills,  and  up  to  where  their  white- 
trimmed  tops  embroider  the  sky,  lived  Grandma  West, 
and  Sister  Millie,  and  Auntie  May,  and,  for  the  present 
(because  she  had  nowhere  else  to  go),  Sylvia  Smith. 

Sylvia  was  a  newcomer  in  Zion.  She  had  come  with 
a  party  from  Australia,  converted  to  the  faith  by  the 
eloquence  of  a  well-favored  young  missionary.  She 
had  been  imbibing  the  teachings  and  enjoying  the  com- 
panionship of  the  chosen  for  less  than  a  year,  when  on 
this  day,  as  on  many  a  weary  one  preceding,  she  tossed 
feverishly  on  grandma's  best  bed  and  prayed  monot- 
onously and  hopelessly  for  death. 

Somewhere,  before  the  Book  of  Mormon  and  the 
Doctrine  and  Covenants  had  become  her  entire  literary 
diet,  and  she  had  learned  how  sufficient  for  all  mental 
and  spiritual  needs  were  these  inspired  volumes,  Sylvia 
had  read  that  with  honor  all  was  lost,  and  odd  as  it 
seemed,  her  honor  seemed  to  be  regarded  as  lost,  al- 
though she  had  only  poured  the  red  of  the  stain  of 
shame  over  the  white  of  her  virgin  soul  in  response  to 

17 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

a  revelation  from  God  Himself  to  one  of  His  favored 
followers,  a  man  who  had  stood  at  the  helm  of  the 
saintly  craft  of  Mormonism  for  so  long  that  his  hair 
was  snow-white  in  the  service,  at  the  time  the  Lord 
had  given  him  the  vision  of  Sylvia  Smith.  He  had 
hastened  to  the  factory  where  his  influence  had  ob- 
tained for  her  a  position  at  six  dollars  a  week  (less, 
of  course,  the  tithing,  which  the  faithful  collected  from 
her  employers,  to  save  her  the  trouble  of  counting  it 
out).  A  great  system,  the  tithing,  and  one  which  has 
ever  the  fascination  of  mystery  as  to  what  becomes  of 
it. 


Sylvia  was  excused  from  her  w^ork  to  speak  to  the 
bishop.  She  had  listened  with  a  fast  beating  heart  to 
the  fact  that  God  had  mirrored  her  face  on  the  spiritual 
lens  which  He  showed  His  servant,  and  that  the  revela- 
tion meant  great  glory  for  her  in  the  day,  now  fast  ap- 
proaching, when  the  king  was  to  appear  to  reward  the 
righteous. 

Now,  sacrifice  is  a  strange  thing.  As  long  as  it  is  in 
the  abstract,  how  we  glory  in  it ;  but  when  it  comes 
down  to  the  concrete  me,  here,  now,  it  is  terrible ;  most 
of  us  all  would  relinquish  the  almost  certain  light  of  a 
hard  won  heaven  for  the  dark  of  a  lost  earth  when 
we  hear  the  roar  of  the  lions  and  the  rending  of  sac- 
rificial limbs. 

Poor  Sylvia  clung  desperately  to  earth,  no  vision  of 
a  near  enthronement  in  heaven  could  soothe  her  shame 
and  self-loathing.  She  wished  wickedly  that  she  had 
never  seen  the  bishop,  never  left  Australia,  let  the  one 
means  of  salvation  pass,  and  stayed  far  away  from 

i8 


THE  DAY  OF  HIS  JUDGMENT. 

Zion.  Especially  and  more  ardently  did  she  wish  these 
wicked  things  after  the  bishop,  being  as  it  were  a  very 
tool  under  the  thumb  of  the  spirit,  got  a  call  which 
took  him  on  some  missionary  work  in  England,  and 
she  was  thrown  out  of  her  position. 

This  is  a  strange  world,  and  Sylvia  soon  found  that 
no  one  else  seemed  to  know  anything  about  the  bishop's 
revelation,  and  although  she  had  only  followed  the  ex- 
pressed desire  of  the  Almighty,  not  one  door  was  open 
to  her.  Even  in  Zion,  which,  you  know,  is  the  ante- 
chamber of  heaven  itself,  this  is  an  awful  position  to 
be  in.  Why,  not  one  of  the  holiest  men  seemed  able  to 
help  her,  times  were  very  close  with  them  all,  and  it 
was  not  until  she  found  refuge  with  Grandma,  who, 
if  you  will  believe,  was  one  of  the  bishop's  first  wives, 
did  the  poor  girl  find  so  much  as  a  place  to  lay  her 
head. 


The  whole  affair  might  so  easily  have  been  hushed 
up  (so  many  are)  had  Sylvia  had  the  common  decency 
to  accuse  some  already  lost  Gentile,  instead  of  insisting 
that  it  was  the  good  old  bishop  who  was  responsible 
for  her  prospective  halo  of  motherhood. 

After  much  discussing  of  the  knotty  problem,  it  was 
decided  to  send  for  the  bishop,  insisting  on  his  imme- 
diate return  to  Zion. 

The  bishop  returned  from  the  green  vineyard  of 
England  questioning  and  indignant. 

The  good  book  says  that  children  are  a  heritage  of 
the  Lord,  and  that  man  is  blessed  who  has  a  quiver  full. 
Now,  the  bishop  had  so  many  in  his  quiver  that  he  was 
— must  be — many  times  blessed  on  this  account  alone. 

19 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

In  fact,  so  ardently  had  he  fulfilled  this  desire  of  his 
Master — as  expressed  to  his  seer  and  revelator,  Joseph 
Smith — that  he  had  long  lost  count  of  the  number, 
knowing  that  they  were  counted  to  his  credit  on  the 
great  record.  So,  to  be  called  back  from  his  labors 
for  so  trivial  a  matter  as  the  one  in  hand,  showed  him 
that  things  had  come  to  a  pretty  pass  in  Zion. 

Insomuch  as  the  girl  had  found  refuge  with  three  of 
his  former  wives,  and  that  to  see  her  he  might  have 
to  face  them,  especially  Grandma,  added  insult  to  the 
bishop's  injury. 

He  had  not  seen  Grandma  for  a  score  of  years,  and 
between  the  two  was  a  trifling  matter,  still  unadjusted, 
that  whenever  he  was  forced  to  think  of  it,  caused  a 
warm  feeling  around  his  collar,  most  uncomfortable. 

But  Sylvia,  with  the  lack  of  consideration  for  his 
feelings  which  she  had  showed  from  the  very  first,  had 
given  birth  to  a  child  a  day  before  he  reached  Zion 
from  abroad,  and  so  taking  advantage  of  the  way  her 
sex  is  favored,  since  the  invasion  of  the  godless  Gen- 
tiles, insisted  that  she  could  not  go  to  the  bishop  and 
that  the  bishop  must  come  to  her.  And  there  was 
nothing  else  for  him  to  do. 

Sister  Millie  and  Auntie  May  both  worked  in  the 
factory,  for  a  mean  pittance  of  wage  and  the  reward 
of  virtue.  Grandma  knit  countless  socks  and  mittens, 
this  being  almost  the  only  remunerative  work  her  rheu- 
matic old  hands  were  capable  of  doing. 

While  Grandma  knit  she  thought,  and  while  she 
thought  she  often  cried.  She  did  to-day,  as  she  sat 
where  she  could  get  the  light  from  the  window  and 
rock  the  little  baby  in  the  cradle.  The  cradle,  a  clumsy, 
home-made  affair  of  wood,  was  the  same  that  had  held 

20 


THE  DAY  OF  HIS  JUDGMENT. 

Grandma's  brood  of  children,  and  Sister  Millie's,  and 
Auntie  May's,  and  now  this  strange,  white-faced  girl's. 
The  children  were  all  the  bishop's,  and  Grandma  had 
rocked  them  all,  just  as  she  was  rocking  this,  knitting, 
and  sometimes  crying,  sometimes  for  the  babies  and 
sometimes  for  the  mothers.  One  can  knit  and  cry  so 
easily. 


Sylvia  watched  the  tears  rolling  down  the  old  wom- 
an's wrinkled  cheeks  with  a  growing  wonder ;  it  seemed 
to  her  that  she  had  all  the  trouble  there  was  worth 
crying  about,  and  she  wondered  that  a  woman  as  old 
as  Grandma  should  care  enough  about  anything  to 
cry  about  it,  that  she  continued  to  do  so,  patiently  and 
helplessly,  began  to  irritate  the  girl  past  endurance. 

"You  don't  need  to  fret  none  about  me,"  she  said 
ungraciously.  *'I  can  stand  what  I  have  to  without 
sympathy." 

Grandma  smiled,  and  Vv'iped  her  cheek  with  the  leg 
of  the  sock  she  was  knitting.  **We  can  all  do  that, 
honey,"  she  said,  stooping  down  and  smoothing  the 
covers  over  the  sleeping  baby,  "we  can  all  bear  our 
own  sorrow,  but  sometimes  it  seems  we  cain't  anoth- 
er's." 

"I  hope  you  wasn't  crying  for  me,"  a  note  of  appeal 
thrilling  through  the  bravado  of  her  voice. 

"No,  not  for  you,"  Grandma  said,  "but  for  my  hus- 
band." 

The  girl  raised  herself  on  one  thin,  sharp  elbow. 
"For  that  lying  old  scoundrel  ?"  she  cried. 

That  is  just  what  she  called  the  bishop,  and  it  cannot 
be  pleaded  in  extenuation  that  she  was  delirious — she 

21 


THE  REVELATION  IN  THE  MOUNTAIN. 

knew  what  she  said,  and  Grandma  knew  what  she 
meant,  for  she  answered  quietly:  ''No,  not  for  the 
bishop,  but  for  my  own  husband." 

"Your  what?"  the  girl  asked,  momentarily  interested 
in  other  affairs  than  her  own. 

*'My  own  husband,"  Grandma  repeated  musingly. 
"The  man  I  loved  and  who  loved  me.    We  were  mar- 
ried in  Missouri,  and  came  here  to  Salt  Lake  after 
•we  were  converted  to  the  faith." 

"Did  he  die?"  the  girl  asked,  as  Grandma  paused  and 
counted  in  a  half-whisper  as  she  "turned"  the  heel  of 
the  sock. 

"I  thought  he  did,"  she  answered,  "although  they 
tried  to  make  me  think  he  had  deserted  me,  as  though 
I'd  believe  that !  But  he  didn't  come  home  one  night 
to  supper,  and  I  could  learn  nothing  for  days.  I  was 
almost  wild  when  bishop  came  to  see  me  and  said 
he  had  had  a  revelation  from  God  that  he  was  to  take 
me  to  wife." 

,"Why,  that's  just  what  the  old  skunk  told  me,"  the 
girl  cried  excitedly. 

Grandma  laughed.     Her  laugh  needed  no  comment. 

"I  was  young,  then,  full  young,  and  I  thought  if 
Ralph  was  gone  I  didn't  care  what  became  of  me ;  so, 
well,  he  fetched  me  here  to  live,  with  Sister  Susie,  his 
first  wife,  who  God,  in  His  mercy,  called  soon  after. 
One  day  Elder  Rooker's  wife  came  in  and  she  said  that 
Ralph  was  in  town,  rampagin'  around,  looking  for  me. 
I  jumped  up,  wild  as  a  deer,  yelling  at  her  to  know 
where  he  was.  My  heart  was  almost  breaking  with 
love  for  him,  but  she  and  Susie  held  me  down,  and  she 
said :  *  'Taint  no  use  to  struggle  against  the  church, 
Lida.    My  man  told  me  that  they  had  kept  him  out  of 

22 


THE  DAY  OF  HIS  JUDGMEXT. 

the  way  till  bishop  got  you,  and  if  you  go  to  acting  up, 
why  they  will  put  him  out  of  the  way  to  stay  put. 
What  bishop  wants,  he  gets." '' 

The  old  lady's  hands  were  trembling  so  that  her  knit- 
ting-needles kept  up  a  little  click  as  they  hit  against 
each  other.  The  girl,  forgetting  her  weakness,  raised 
herself  again  on  her  elbow. 

"The  devils/'  she  screamed,  "rd— I'd "' 

"Xo,  you  wouldn't,'"  Grandm.a  interrupted  her.  The 
baby  cried,  and  she  put  her  knitting  down  on  the  win- 
dow-sill, and,  stooping  over,  picked  it  up  in  her  mother- 
ing old  anr.s,  soothing  it  vrith  little  mouthing  coos. 
"You  couldn't  'a'  done  more  than  I  could,"  she  went  on. 
"I  got  down  on  my  knees  and  begged  the  bishop, 
prayed  him  to  let  me  go,  but  he  said  if  I  didn't  submit 
to  the  will  of  God  that  they  would  take  Ralph  and — 
and  cut  oft  his  ears,  and — oh,  pitying  God !  I  can't  tell 
the  horrible  threats  that  he  m.ade,  until  I — why.  I  had 
to  submit.  I  couldn't  do  amthing  else.  My  only 
ccmfort  was  that  I  was  saving  Ralph  suffering,  and 
that  some  day,  maybe  near,  maybe  far,  that  God  would 
bring  the  light.  'Sly  mother  used  to  say  that  'the  Lord 
wouldn't  let  that  goat's  tail  grow  too  long,  or  it  would 
switch  its  o\\-n  eves  out.'  But  it  has  been  lens:,  verv 
Ion?." 

'Hvhat  has  ^" 

''The  day  of  His  judgment."  she  answered  softly. 

"Sometim.es  I  have  thought  that  those  awful  mon- 
sters that  are  described  in  Revelations,  in  the  Bible, 
describes  some  of  the  men  who  used  to  run  things  in 
our  church." 

The  baby  began  to  cr\'  again,  and  Grandm.a  carried 
it  out  in  the  ''lean-to,''  where  a  concoction,  intended 

23 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

for  its  delectation,  was  brewing  on  the  back  of  the 
stove.  As  she  moved  about  the  girl  heard  her  singing 
in  a  sweet  old  quaver : 

"Oh,  that  we  in  the  day  of  His  coming  may  say, 
I  have  fought  my  way  through,  I  have  finished 
The  work  Thou  didst  set  me  to  do." 

"Grandma,  Grandma,  come  quick,"  called  the  girl 
excitedly.    *'The  bishop  is  just  turning  in  at  the  door." 

The  bishop  carried  his  three-score  years  almost 
jauntily.  He  was  upright,  vigorous,  and  well  dressed. 
His  aura  exuded  a  state  of  comfortable  well  being, 
despite  the  fact  that,  for  the  moment,  he  looked  some- 
what flustered.  He  was  flanked  on  one  side  by  a  tall, 
spare  man,  who  wore  a  gray  beard  for  a  shirt-front  and 
used  it  for  a  cuspidor,  and  on  the  other  by  a  nervous 
little  man  with  a  red  mustache. 


Grandma  opened  the  door.  The  bishop  hardly  knew 
her,  such  a  change  had  the  last  few  years  made  in  her. 
She  looked  a  woman  old  in  body  and  broken  in  spirit. 
The  bishop's  momentary  scrutiny  of  her  sad  old  face 
reassured  him ;  he  felt  that,  after  all,  he  had  little  to 
fear  from  her.  As  for  the  girl  on  the  bed — that  might 
take  a  few  greenbacks,  but  here  experience  gave  him 
confidence.  Of  course,  he  owed  it  to  the  fair  name 
of  the  church  to  induce  her  to  shift  the  responsibility 
of  paternity  to  some  Gentile — that  was  always  a  suc- 
cess— and,  as  for  squaring  himself  with  the  church, 
well,  the  bishop  knew  what  he  knew. 

He  found  the  girl  stubborn  past  all  belief.  Each  gen- 
eration of  women  grew  worse  and  harder  to  control. 

24 


THE  DAY  OF  HIS  JUDGMENT. 

The  bishop  had  really  a  bad  half-hour.  The  presence 
of  Grandma  irritated  him  dreadfully,  too,  not  that  she 
said  anything,  but  she  was  there,  and,  as  he  knew,  it 
is  much  harder  to  control  a  woman  if  one  of  her  own 
sex  is  present,  and  Grandma's  presence  was  menacing. 
He  actually  sweated  before  she  said  a  word,  and  after' 
well,  he  got  so  hot  he  almost  suffocated;  but  he  had  to 
listen. 

The  old  lady  spoke  so  quietly  that  any  one  in  the 
next  room  would  have  thought  that  she  was  discussing 
the   weather,   but  she   wasn't;   she   had  gone  back   a 
quarter  of  a  century,  and  was  reminding  the  bishop  of 
certam  matters  that  he  had  quite  concluded  to  for-et 
It  was  bad  enough  to  listen  himself,  but  to  see  "the 
expressions  on  the   faces  of  the   other  listeners  was 
maddenmg.      He    felt    forced    to    interpose.      ''Come 
come,  Lida,"  he  said,  "  a  jealous  woman's  tongue  is 
best  silent.     Supposing  you  do  know  some— er— mis- 
takes I  have  made  long  ago,  what  are  you  to  pass  judg- 
ment?    A  body  would  think  you  was   Christ  Him- 
self. 

"Christ's  mother  was  a  woman,"  Grandma  answered 
quietly,  ''and  I  ain't  figured  out  yet  how  God  would  'a' 
sent  a  Savior  to  the  world  if  there  hadn't  been  a 
woman  to  bear  Him.  Women  has  rights,  if  your 
church  did  try  to  take  them  away.  The  reason  I  have 
for  telling  these  things  before  Brother  Smith  and 
Brother  Baldwin  and  this  last  victim  of  your  low  lies 
is  that  I  want  witnesses  on  both  sides:  your  side  and 
mine. 

The  bishop's  lips  were  white.    "Witnesses  ?"  he  whis- 
pered. 

"Witnesses,"  Grandma  repeated.     "I  been  gathering 

25 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

evidence  against  you  for  a  long  time,  and  this  last," 
she  motioned  toward  the  bed,  "was  all  I  needed.  The 
prosecuting  attorney  has  evidence  enough  against  you 
to  hang  you  or  send  you  up  for  State's  keep  for  the  rest 
of  your  wicked  life." 


The  bishop  was  plainly  terrified.  He  looked  around 
as  if  for  a  means  of  escape,  and,  seeing  none,  dropped 
on  his  shaking  knees  before  the  old  woman  and  begged, 
with  tears,  for  mercy.  She  shifted  the  baby  from  one 
shoulder  to  the  other,  and  looked  down  on  him  calmly. 
"Do  you  mind  the  time  I  was  on  my  knees  to  you?" 
she  asked.     He  nodded  miserably. 

"Give  me  back  my  young  husband,  and  my  own 
life,  and  I'll  let  you  go  free." 

He  mumbled  despairingly,  again  his  shifting  eye 
sought  the  doorway. 

"You  can't  get  out  that  way,"  the  old  lady  said. 
"There  are  detectives  watching  every  move  you  make. 
Get  up  off  of  your  knees,  you  old  coward."  A  sudden 
sharp  change  in  her  voice.  "I  ain't  going  to  have  you 
hung  or  your  ears  cut  off  or  your  eyes  poked  out — as 
you  deserve!  I'll  leave  your  eternal  judgment  to  the 
Master.  But  you  are  never  going  to  set  foot  in  the 
meeting-house  again ;  you  are  going  to  resign  from 
all  your  business,  and  I  am  going  to  pay  men  with  your 
money,  to  watch  every  move  you  make. 

"You  are  going  to  provide  for  Millie,  and  May,  and. 
their  children,  and  for  this  girl  here,  and  you  are  going 
to  acknowledge  that  you  are  the  father  of  this  child." 

The  bishop  wrung  his  hands.  "It  will  ruin  me,"  he 
whined. 

26 


THE  DAY  OF  HIS  JUDGMENT, 

"The  church  will  excommunicate  you — I'll  see  to 
that,"  went  on  the  stern  old  voice.  *'  'Tain't  that  you 
mustn't  commit  adultery,  but  that  you  mustn't  be  found 
out  at  it.    You've  been  found  out." 

The  bishop  sat  down  weakly  and  wiped  his  eyes. 
He  looked  piteously  from  one  to  the  other.  "Ain't  you 
got  any  mercy?"  he  begged.  "I'll  make  amends.  I'll 
give  half  my  money,  only  don't,  for  God's  sake,  dis- 
grace me  publicly." 

"I'm  doing  what  I  be  for  God's  sake,"  Grandma 
said  inexorably,  with  a  tightening  of  her  shrunken  lips. 
"The  general  public  won't  know  m.uch  of  this.  I  ain't 
no  publicity  expert,  and  as  long  as  you  walk  the  road 
I've  set  out  for  you,  not  so  many  outside  of  the  church 
will  know  that  you  have  got  your  come-up-ence  at  last. 
But  don't  forget  for  a  minute  that  the  law  men  are 
watching  you.  You  can  go  now ;  a  man  will  call  at 
your  office  for  the  money  we  want  to  start  on." 

The  bishop  leaned  heavily  on  the  arms  of  his  coun- 
selors as  he  walked  out  of  the  rickety  old  gate.  He 
knew  he  must  do  just  as  the  old  woman  said ;  he  dare 
not  do  otherwise.  He  felt  old,  and  broken,  and  friend- 
less.    The  day  of  his  judgment  had  come. 


27 


III. 

THE  THREAD  OF  SCARLET. 

Religion  had  been  Jane's  watchword.  One  of  her 
earHest  recollections  was  a  shuddering  watchfulness  of 
the  sky,  which,  the  elder  said,  was  one  day  to  "roll  up 
like  a  scroll,"  disclosing — Jane  would  close  her  light- 
fringed  lids  over  her  big  eyes,  in  sudden  terror  of 
what  it  might  disclose,  of  mystery,  and  awfulness,  and 
dread. 

The  wicked  were  to  be  burned  as  chaff ;  and  the 
wicked  were  those  who  gave  heed  to  other  than  spirit- 
ual matters.  Wicked,  indeed,  was  the  child  who  looked 
covetously  at  the  jar  of  striped  peppermints  on  the 
shelf  at  the  corner  store,  or  who  dreamed  of  a  bow  of 
blue  ribbons  tied  to  her  scanty  braid.  A  lack  of  spirit- 
uality alone  could  account  for  such  licentiousness,  and 
the  only  hope  lay  in  added  prayer  and  seeking  after 
righteousness. 

Jane  never  knew  which  she  would  rather  believe, 
like  her  mother,  that  the  wicked  were  to  be  burned  as 
chaff ;  or,  like  her  father,  that  they  were  to  stay  forever 
and  ever  in  a  lake  of  fire.  There  were  disadvantages 
in  either.  Then,  too,  she  never  knew  which  day  was 
more  to  be  dreaded,  the  day  when  she  went  to  meeting 
with  her  mother  and  looked  at  all  of  the  other  mothers 
and  daughters  clad  in  soberest  drab,  with  never  a  bow 
or  a  gleaming  brooch  ;  or  the  day  she  went  to  town  with 
her  father,  where  she  was  sure  to  see,  and  be  sorely 

28 


THE  THREAD  OF  SCARLET, 

tempted  by,  a  fluttering  streamer  on  some  hat,  a  col- 
ored bow  of  ribbon  on  some  braid,  or  distractingly 
pretty  ''edging"  on  some  small  petticoat  or  ''panties," 
at  which  Jane  would  gaze  with  fascinated  eye  and  al- 
most decide  on  the  lake  of  fire. 

Her  mother  got  weary  of  "watching,"  and  it  was 
not  long  after  they  had  lain  her  down  to  wait,  near  the 
sacred  Mount  Olivet,  that  her  father,  too,  went  seeking 
light  in  the  outer  darkness,  leaving  Jane  alone,  with  the 
Rocky  Mountain  farm  and  a  little  hoard  of  money  ;  also 
with  portions  of  the  Bible  memorized  so  that  she  could 
say  them  backward. 

Jane  was  twenty-five,  and  had  been  an  old  maid 
fifteen  years,  when  she  got  a  letter  from  her  cousin, 
Sarah  Bartlett,  in  New  Orleans.  This,  in  itself,  was  an 
event,  but  its  contents  were  a  dispensation.  Sarah  be- 
longed to  that  portion  of  her  father's  family,  who,  ac- 
cording to  her  mother,  had  little  wheat  among  them 
all,  that  in  the  last  appraisement  they  would  all  go  as 
chafif,  pure  and  simple.  Pushing  a  hand-cart  across  the 
desert,  in  search  of  the  long-lost  garden,  had  not  made 
Jane's  mother  broad  in  her  views ;  but  after  her  death, 
Jane's  father  had  spoken  of  them  with  a  yearning  af- 
fection ;  so,  although  Jane  knew  they  were  chafif,  still, 
the  kindly  tone  in  the  letter  appealed  to  her,  and 
brought  a  warm  little  glow  to  her  heart  that  grew 
warmer  each  time  she  read  it  over.  This  was  so  often 
that  she  was  ready  for  bed  that  night  before  she  re- 
membered that  she  had  not  even  opened  the  Deseret 
Nezvs  or  read  a  word  in' the  Book  of  Mormon.  Thus 
had  Sarah's  influence  begun. 

Sarah  had  written  inviting,  almost  insisting,  on 
29 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

Jane  paying  her  a  visit.  She  could  not  leave,  as  she 
would  like  to  do,  to  visit  her  cousin,  Jane,  on  account 
of  being  tied  down  by  her  business.  She  kept  a  milli- 
nery and  ladies'  furnishing  shop,  she  explained,  and  did 
a  very  comfortable  business.  Her  parents  had  died  and 
her  brothers  and  sisters  had  moved  away,  and  she  was 
lonely  for  some  of  her  own  kin.  A  letter  from  their 
cousin,  Melissy  Fairview,  had  told  her  that  Jane  was 
unmarried  and  alone,  so  she  wrote  at  once  to  ask  her 
to  come  to  New  Orleans  and  stay  as  long  as  she  could 
with  her  affectionate  cousin,  Sarah  Bartlett.  Jane 
went.  Sarah  was  not  better  prepared  for  Jane  than  was 
Jane  for  Sarah.  But  Sarah  had  hopes  and  Jane  fears, 
in  the  first  hour  of  their  meeting.  Sarah  had  not  been 
a  woman's  furnisher  for  upward  of  twenty  years  with- 
out having  gained  an  optimistic  knowledge  of  aids  to 
nature,  and  her  mind  immediately  leaped  to  certain 
shelves  and  boxes  in  her  shop  with  reference  to  Jane. 
Jane  had  not  had  the  sin  of  worldliness  poured  over 
and  jammed  down  and  heaped  up  in  her  consciousness 
for  a  quarter  of  a  century,  not  to  recognize  in  Sarah 
the  very  personification  of  sin ;  in  her  voluminous  dra- 
peries, her  velvet  hat,  with  its  long  plume,  well-gloved 
hands,  her  lace-trimmed  handkerchief,  which,  as  she 
held  it  daintily  to  her  carefully  powdered  nose,  smelled 
plainly  of  ''scent."  Jane  felt  the  same  fascination  for 
Sarah's  fineness  that  she  had  years  ago  when  she  had 
looked  with  lustful  eyes  at  the  bows  of  pink  ribbon 
on  the  braids  of  the  worldly — felt  and  knew  she  must 
watch  and  pray,  lest  a  love  of  carnal  things  grow  up 
in  her  heart. 

******* 
30 


THE  THREAD  OF  SCARLET. 

She  was  sadly  bewildered  by  the  din  of  the  city. 
But  Sarah,  although  fairly  flaunting  the  lusts  of  the 
flesh  before  her  eyes,  looked  kind,  and  amid  all  this 
strangeness,  familiar,  from  some  subtle  resemblance  to 
her  father ;  so  she  followed  her  meekly. 

Sarah  was  tactful,  having  catered  to  feminine  whims 
for  years,  and  she  guessed  much  of  Jane's  inner  atti- 
tude by  her  outer  humility  of  attire ;  so  in  her  easy,  big- 
hearted  way  she  dispelled  some  of  her  visitor's  nerv- 
ousness and  had  her  quite  at  her  ease  by  the  time  they 
had  rested  in  her  tiny  flat  above  the  shop,  and  chatted 
over  their  tea. 

Had  Jane  died  and  wakened  with  either  the  sound 
of  harps  in  her  ears  or  the  smell  of  brimstone  in  her 
nostrils,  she  would  have  felt  a  certain  sense  of  famil- 
iarity, having  heard  both  states  of  being  so  often  de- 
scribed; but  this  world,  which  her  visit  to  her  cousin 
Sarah  opened  up,  even  her  wildest  imagination  had 
never  pictured. 

Sarah  was  a  very  busy  woman,  overseeing  every  bit 
of  her  considerable  business,  waiting  on  the  trade  in  a 
rustling  silk  gown  in  the  afternoons,  and  directing  the 
work  in  the  trimming-room  mornings ;  keeping  her  flat 
in  spotless  order,  and  preparing  her  simple  meals,  gave 
her  just  leisure  enough  to  enjoy  to  the  full  the  society 
of  a  few  friends,  an  occasional  trip  to  the  theater,  a 
trolley  ride,  or  a  cozy  evening  alone,  over  a  gas-log  in 
her  bit  of  a  parlor,  with  a  pile  of  fashion  books  for 
company  and  ideas. 

Jane  at  once  relieved  her  cousin  of  the  housekeeping 
cares,  but  they  took  so  little  of  her  time  that  she  spent 
hours  together  gazing  out  of  the  windows  at  the  mot- 
ley procession  of  strange  people,  and  in  looking  over 

31 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

Sarah's  few  books.  These  were  as  far  removed  from 
the  accustomed  grooves  of  her  Hterary  experience  as 
were  the  gaudily  dressed  Creoles  from  the  somberly 
clad  devotees  of  her  memory.  One  book  in  particular 
held  her  enthralled,  although  she  understood  the  mean- 
ing of  its  words  but  slightly.  The  very  name,  "The 
Rubaiyat,"  sounded  like  the  ''black  hand  society,"  but 
oh,  the  charm  of  it ! 

Sometimes  on  dull  mornings  she  would  go  down  to 
the  shop  with  Sarah  and  look  at  the  wonderful  things 
displayed  in  the  cases.  Sometimes  she  would  touch 
lingeringly  a  bit  of  bright  ribbon  or  soft  velvet  with 
her  little,  work-hardened  fingers. 

*'Do  you  ever  think,"  she  asked  her  cousin  one  day, 
going  into  the  latter's  dressing-room  when  she  was 
preparing  to  go  out  with  some  friend,  ''that  it  is  wicked 
to  wear  colors  and  jewelry — and — try  to  look  nice?" 

Sarah  turned  from  the  contemplation  of  her  plump, 
comely  face  in  the  mirror  and  looked  at  Jane,  first  with 
amusement  in  her  eyes  and  then  with  a  tightening  of 
her  lips,  for  Jane's  prudery  was  beginning  to  get  on 
her  nerves. 

"No,"  she  said  firmly.  "I  don't;  didn't  God  paint 
the  lily?  Didn't  He  make  the  grass  green  and  the  sky 
blue,  and  put  the  red  on  the  robin's  breast?  Why.'^ 
she  added,  as  she  adjusted  a  quivering  wire  rat  in  her 
round  "roughed"  pompadour,  "I  sold  a  false  front 
to  the  bishop's  wife  yesterday." 

Jane  sat  down  weakly.  At  last  the  foundations  of 
her  world  trembled  and  her  "sky  rolled  up  like  a 
scroll."    Her  ego  quivered  with  the  shock. 

A  bishop's  wife  and  a  false  front ! 

"You  should  wear  one  yourself,"  Sarah  continued, 

32 


THE  THREAD  OF  SCARLET. 

calmly  dipping  her  chamois  first  in  flesh  color  and  then 
in  red,  and  flashing  a  magically  improved  complexion 
upon  poor  Jane,  whose  cheeks  were  as  innocent  of  tint 
as  her  virgin  bosom  was  of  contour  and  her  soul  of 
sin. 

''Soon  as  the  Mardi  Gras  is  over,  and  we  get  set- 
tled down,  I'm  going  to  fix  you  up,"  Sarah  went  on, 
turning  her  eyes  considerately  away  from  Jane's  burn- 
ing face.  '1  am  sorry  I  have  to  be  gone  to-night.  I 
wanted  to  take  you  out  to  see  the  fun.  Every  one 
wears  a  mask  to-night,  you  know,  and  cuts  up  any  dido 
they  feel  like. 

"Come  on  down,  and  I'll  show  you  some  costumes 
that  the  girls  unpacked  this  morning.  They  are  the 
cutest  ever." 

******* 

Jane  looked  and  marveled  at  the  wonderful  things 
Sarah  put  in  her  lap — beautiful  garments,  gaudy  as  a 
butterfly's  wings  with  tinsel  and  color.  She  touched 
them  almost  fearfully.  But  "the  vine  had  struck  a 
fiber."  New  thoughts  and  sensations  ran  like  quick- 
silver through  her  veins.  Her  unlived  youth  seemed 
to  arise  through  the  mists  of  years  and  to  look  at  her 
with  piteous,  pleading  eyes  from  the  little  heap  of  gay 
garments  in  her  lap. 

New  Orleans,  at  Mardi  Gras,  is  shaken  from  its 
usual  languor  and  metamorphosed  into  a  scene  of 
gayety.  The  wine  of  life  is  poured  in  rich  libations 
to  the  jocund  gods.  The  body  is  laid  aside,  and  the 
spirit — the  spirit  of  youth,  and  frolic,  and  carnival — 
reigns.  The  bright  pageantry,  the  gay  music,  the  fan- 
tastically clad  street  dancers — everywhere  is  color  and 
movement  and  boisterous  joy  of  living. 

33 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN, 

Jane  spent  the  day  at  the  window,  looking  out.  Her 
soul,  newly  awakened,  seemed  to  move  and  fret  in  her 
body.     She  was  afraid  for  life. 

When  the  last  of  the  girls  had  left  the  shop  for  the 
day,  she  went  down  guardedly  to  brood  over  the  mys- 
teries in  box  and  case.  She  hoped  all  the  beautiful 
things  had  not  been  sold.  With  a  thrill  of  delight  she 
saw,  as  she  lit  the  gas,  that  one  quaint  red  gown  yet 
remained.  Her  hands  touched  the  silken  folds  tenderly. 
A  saleswoman  had  evidently  had  the  entire  outfit  co- 
ercingly  displayed,  for  they  were  all  together,  the 
short,  kilted  skirts,  the  beruffled  waist,  the  red  mask, 
the  little  shoes  with  the  big  gilt  buckles,  and  the  crim- 
son, silken  hose.    Ah,  Jane,  Jane ! 

Jane's  hands  shook  as  she  fingered  them  over,  the 
dress,  the  shoes,  and  the  silken  hose.  The  sound  of 
laughter,  of  music,  of  hurrying  feet,  beat  against  the 
closed  door. 

Jane  sank  trembling  to  her  knees.  She  tried  to  pray, 
but  a  madness  was  upon  her  and  she  could  form  no 
words.  She  rose,  and,  gathering  up  the  box  and  a 
hastily  selected  article  here  and  there,  went  with  fleet 
footsteps  up  the  stairs  to  Sarah's  dressing-room. 

She  tore  off  her  plain  gray  gown,  her  modest  shoes, 
and  her  serviceable  petticoat ;  she  loosed  her  scanty, 
drab  hair,  and  gazed  long  and  long  into  the  glass.  But 
she  could  not  find  herself  in  the  reflection ;  a  stranger's 
eye,  bright  with  daring,  and  a  rejuvenated  face,  with 
hot,  red  cheeks,  looked  from  it.  She  tried  to  cool  the 
cheeks  with  the  palms  of  her  hands,  but  they,  too, 
were  burning — burning  with  eagerness  to  begin  the 
task  that  strange  spirit  prompted.  First,  to  comb  out 
the  meek,  smooth  locks  and  ''rough"  them  shamelessly 

34 


THE  THREAD  OF  SCARLET. 

into  a  pompadour;  to  struggle  desperately  with  a 
whalebone  of  vanity  and  draw  in  her  meager  waist  to 
fit  the  clasp  of  that  knee-short  skirt ;  to  pull  on  the  long, 
red  stockings  and  buckle  on  the  shoes,  too — ah !  Jane 
had  learned,  or,  perhaps,  something  in  her  which  she 
had  forgotten,  remembered.  This  strange  creature, 
with  shining  eyes  and  eager,  tremulous  mouth,  did  not 
pause  even  at  squeezing  the  atomizer  and  sprinkling 
"scent"  all  over  her  little  beruffled  self,  or  hesitate  at 
slipping  the  mask  over  her  glowing  face. 

She  went  to  the  window  and  leaned  out.  There  was 
a  throng  of  revelers  in  the  street.  Some  one  looked 
up  and  threw  a  handful  of  confetti  at  her.  She  laughed 
— this  strange,  strange  Jane!  and  ran  with  eager  feet 
down  the  stair  to  the  shop,  slid  back  the  bolt,  and  went 
out  into  the  night 


Such  a  night !  How  far  removed  from  the  sanctified, 
silvery  light  of  the  moon  as  it  shone  on  the  hillsides 
and  in  the  valleys  of  her  distant  home.  This  night  was 
golden.  There  was  an  intoxicating  fragrance  in  the 
air  from  myriads  of  flovv^ers.  Jane  crushed  some  be- 
neath her  feet  as  she  stepped  giddily  on  the  pavement. 
A  float,  flower-laden,  drawn  by  white  horses,  richly 
caparisoned  with  woven  roses,  passed  her,  amid  wild 
tooting  of  horns  and  shrieks  of  laughter  from  its  fan- 
tastically clad  occupants.  A  passing  troubadour  bent 
low  to  peer  into  her  eyes,  and  a  clown  blew  his  horn 
in  her  ear. 

The  crowd  bore  her  along  toward  a  public  park. 
Sometimes  she  was  jostled  roughly,  and  once  she 
paused,  terror-stricken,  the  old  Jane  tremblingly  awake 

35 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

in  the  new  Jane's  body ;  but  only  for  an  instant,  for 
no  sooner  had  the  terror  come  than  it  was  dispelled  by 
a  broad-shouldered  man  in  a  monk's  cassock  and  cowl, 
who  took  her  hand  and  guided  her  through  the  throng. 

Jane  looked  up  into  his  eyes — and  lived. 

She  did  not  know  where  they  went  or  what  they 
said,  but  she  knew  that  the  touch  of  his  hand  was 
ecstasy  and  the  sound  of  his  voice  magic.  For  the 
first  time  in  her  narrow,  restricted  life,  Jane  was  con- 
scious of  the  glory  and  power  of  her  womanhood. 

They  paused  near  a  musically  murmuring  fountain. 
Memory  rose  like  a  mist  over  the  sun  of  her  newly 
found  happiness.  She  knew  that  she  could  never  sing, 
**Is  My  Name  Written  There?"  in  the  old,  safe  as- 
surance again.  But  what  if  it  were  erased  from  the 
book  of  everlasting  life?  It  was  written  here,  now,  in 
one  night  of  vivid,  pulsating  experience. 

A  line  from  Omar  sang  itself  in  her  mind.  She 
understood  it  now — she  repeated  it  to  her  companion : 

**Ah,  make  the  most  of  what  we  yet  may  spend." 
And  he  had  quoted  back,  with  a  look  that  was  as  the 
warmth  of  red  wine : 

"Oh,  my  beloved,  fill  the  cup  that  clears 
To-day  of  past   regrets  and  future  fears." 

Approaching  dawn  laid  her  cool  fingers  on  the 
fevered  night  before  Jane  found  her  way — still  with  her 
masked  protector — to  the  door  of  her  cousin's  shop. 
Dawn,  and  Jane  not  abed !  Jane,  whose  wildest  festiv- 
ity had  been  to  stay  up  till  ten  at  a  church  social ! 

She  sat  long  at  the  window  that  morning,  clad  again 
in  her  plain,  dark  clothes,  her  hair  smoothed  back  in 
its  accustomed  unbecomingness,  and  tried  to  find  her- 

36 


THE  THREAD  OF  SCARLET. 

self.  She  tried  prayerfully  to  pick  up  the  gray  threads 
from  which  the  fabric  of  her  life  was  woven,  and  to 
go  on  with  the  pattern.  But  this  she  could  never  do. 
The  thread  of  scarlet  had  been  woven  in. 


Z7 


IV. 
THE  GARMENT  OF  SALVATION. 

*  *  *  For  he  hath  clothed  me  with  the  garments  of 
salvation,  *  *  *  He  hath  covered  me  with  the  robes  of 
righteousness.     *    *    * — Isaiah  lxi.  io. 


It  was  a  hot  evening  early  in  August  when  the  em- 
ployees thankfully  emerged  from  the  sweltering  heat 
of  the  cannery  and  exchanged  the  steaming  odor  of 
tomatoes  for  the  pure  air  of  the  outer  world. 

There  were  varying  expressions  of  relief  and  fa- 
tigue on  the  heat-flushed  faces  of  the  women.  Perhaps 
the  relief  was  mirrored  strongest  on  the  face  of  Hilda 
Swanson,  the  new  convert  from  Sweden,  and  certainly 
the  fatigue  showed  deepest  on  the  face  of  the  woman 
just  behind  her,  old  "Aunt"  Lila. 

There  was  more  than  fatigue  in  Aunt  Lila's  face ; 
there  was  a  sad  hopelessness  as  though  she  looked  in- 
ward and  saw  always  the  bitter  fruitage  which  had 
grown  from  the  early  planting  of  her  soul. 

Her  ill-fitting  cotton  dress  was  stained  with  the  red 
juice  of  the  tomatoes,  which  she  peeled  with  stolid  pre- 
cision from  morning  until  night. 

Despite  the  heat,  Aunt  Lila  wore  a  hat  that  had  been 
blue  velvet,  and  once,  so  long  ago  that  it  had  out- 
grown even  the  suspicion  of  the  reputation,  had  been 
new. 

38 


THE  GARMENT  OF  SALVATION. 

Her  hands  were  scarred,  and  cut,  and  stained  from 
their  wearisome  toil. 

The  new  girl  looked  from  the  older  woman's  face  to 
her  hands,  and  thought  longingly  of  her  native  Sweden. 
If  this  were  what  it  meant,  that  life  which  the  mission- 
ary had  told  them  about,  poor,  stupid  Hilda  failed  to 
grasp  its  meaning.  She  had  worked  in  Sweden  and 
she  worked  here,  but  there  there  had  been  much  com- 
pany and  merry-making  with  the  youth  of  her  kind, 
that  youth  who  cared  nothing  for  the  Grail  of  the 
Spirit  or  even  knew  that  Christ  was  to  come  again  in 
seven  short  years,  and  select  the  sheep  (the  Mormons) 
to  sit  at  His  right  hand  and  tell  the  goats  (the  Gentiles) 
to  about  face  and  depart  from  Him  into  unending 
night. 

It  had  seemed  plain  to  Hilda,  and  the  blue  of 
Swedish  sky  had  grown  black  with  dread  of  that  awful 
day  which  the  young  missionary,  convincing  with  facts 
and  figures,  assured  her  was  so  soon  to  dawn.  She 
had  gone  to  join  His  chosen,  but  instead  of  making 
ready  v/ith  white  garmicnts  and  keeping  her  lamp 
trimmed  and  burning,  she  had  peeled  tomatoes.  And 
instead  of  being  soothed  by  the  oil  of  sanctity,  she  had 
been  appalled  by  tales  of  corruption  and  moral  filth 
until  she  had  wondered  if,  after  all,  the  annointed  were 
nearer  to  His  Kingdom  than  were  some  of  the  pure- 
minded  youth  of  her  own  unconsecrated  land. 

>K  :k  ^  ;i;  H:  5fs  * 

She  fell  into  step  with  old  Aunt  Lila.  "It  ban  hot," 
she  said,  by  way  of  conversation. 

"Terrible,"  agreed  Aunt  Lila,  wiping  the  sweat  from 
her  face. 

39 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

"My  man  ban  in  Salt  Lake  City  lookin'  for  a  yob," 
further  informed  Hilda. 

"Oh,  are  you  married?"  Aunt  Lila  asked. 

"Oh,  yas,  a  ban  canned  in  the  Temple." 

"Canned !"  exclaimed  Aunt  Lila ;  then,  comprehend- 
ing, her  face  fell  into  little  lines  and  wrinkles,  which 
showed  how  it  might  have  looked  if  life  had  ever  let 
her  laugh. 

"You  mean  sealed,"  she  said. 

"They  are  yust  the  same,"  Hilda  insisted,  with  native 
stubbornness.  "Sometime  the  boss  he  say  seal  the 
tomatoes,  and  sometime  he  say  can." 

"It's  just  the  same.  It  means  that  you  can't  get 
out,"  Aunt  Lila  said,  the  bitterness  falling  like  a  veil 
over  her  face. 

"What  say?" 

"Where  do  you  live?"  the  older  woman  asked,  in- 
stead of  repeating  her  bitter  speech. 

"Ve  got  a  room  on  Twenty-fort  Street,  over  a  saloon. 
My  man,  he  drink,  sometime  a  ban  so  scared."  Her 
childish  eyes  were  very  wide  and  wistful. 

"I  live  out  on  the  bench.  If  you  want,  you  can  stay 
all  night  with  me,"  Aunt  Lila  said. 

Hilda  caught  her  breath  with  a  little  sob.  "A  tank 
you  ban  so  goot." 

It  was  a  long  walk  up  to  the  bench,  long  and  hot, 
but  it  cost  five  cents  each  for  them  to  ride,  so  Aunt 
Lila  thought  best  to  buy  an  extra  loaf  of  bread  against 
the  entertainment  of  her  company. 

Aunt  Lila  had  two  of  the  fourteen  souls  which  she 
had  furnished  with  sturdy  Mormon  bodies  still  to  sup- 
port. These  two,  a  boy  and  a  girl,  came  out  of  the 
gate  to  meet  them. 

40 


THE  G  ARM  EXT  OF  SALVATION. 

"This  is  one  of  the  new  girls  from  the  factory," 
their  mother  said  by  way  of  introduction.  *'You  can 
step  over  to  Sister  Avory's  and  get  a  pint  of  milk  and 
a  half-dozen  eggs,  Willie;  tell  her  maw  will  pay  her 
Saturday  night." 

She  then  took  the  girl's  hat  and  seated  her  near  the 
open  door,  where  she  could  get  the  breeze  from  the 
caiion.  She  threw  her  own  hat  on  the  bed  and  pinned 
on  an  apron.  With  it,  she  seemed  to  put  on  a  certain 
grace  of  womanliness. 

The  Swedish  girl's  round,  blue  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

''You  ban  so  goot,"  she  choked.  The  old  woman 
patted  her  flaxen  head. 

"Oh,  you  poor,  poor  girl,"  she  said  sadly.  She 
brooded  for  a  long  moment  over  the  girl,  and  her  mis- 
guided type,  as  did  He,  who  brooded  over  Jerusalem. 
"How  often  would  I  have  gathered  ye  into  my  arms 
*     *     *     but  ye  would  not." 

She  went  heavily  about  the  preparation  of  the  simple 
meal. 

Hilda  helped  the  little  girl  wash  up  the  dishes,  and 
Aunt  Lila  sat  in  the  doorway  and  mended  the  seat  of 
Willie's  school  pants.  When  it  got  too  dark  for  her  to 
see  she  went  inside,  and  getting  her  little  brood  to  bed 
for  the  night,  she  went  back  to  her  seat  in  the  doorway, 
but  not  to  work,  to  think !  Oh,  God,  in  mercy !  to 
think.  She  sat  until  the  dusk  deepened  to  dark,  until 
the  moon  arose  and  silver-coated  the  mountains  and 
made  a  path  of  jewels  down  the  river.  She  thought 
of  the  poor  little  convert  asleep  in  her  bed,  of  her  chil- 
dren, those  who  had  been  called  to  rest  until  He 
came. 

41 


THE  REVELATION  IN  THE  MOUNTAIN. 

Those  who  were  battling  with  the  many-faced  host 
of  Life's  army,  of  those  two  asleep  in  the  silent,  moon- 
lit room.  Then  the  wheels  of  time  turned  backward, 
and  she  thought  of  herself,  a  child  in  the  farmhouse 
in  Indiana,  of  her  girlhood,  and  even  now,  the  memory 
hung  like  a  picture  with  a  gilded  background,  of  her 
first  lover,  of  their  walks  in  fragrant,  moonlit  country 
lanes.  Then  of  her  conversion  to  Mormonism,  of  the 
long  journey  across  the  plains  to  reach  ''the  promised 
land."  Of  the  semicircle  of  covered  wagons,  of  the 
Indians,  and  how  they  bought  peace  by  an  offering 
from  each  wagon  spread  out  in  pitiful  display  for  their 
haughty  inspection. 

Of  their  arrival  in  Salt  Lake,  of  their  first  days 
of  religious  fervor  and  rejoicing  that  their  train  of  sixty 
wagons  had  reached  the  city  in  safety. 

Then,  her  thoughts  trembled  before  the  crowd  of 
those  other  memories ;  of  the  courting  of  one  of  the 
holy  men  of  Zion ;  of  her  fear,  despair,  loathing — and 
marriage  in  the  Temple.  Of  his  taking  her  to  a  little 
patch  of  ground  out  Corrine  way;  of  the  handful  of 
chickens,  and  poorly  fed  cows  with  which  she  was  to 
make  a  living  for  herself  and  as  many  children  which 
the  good  God  should  send  her. 

She  thought  of  the  miserable  adobe  house  where 
she  lived  those  toiling  days,  those  anxious  days,  those 
mad  days,  until  when  he  had  come  to  see  her,  she 
turned  on  him  like  the  very  fury  of  hate,  demanding 
her  freedom.  Heaping  awful  words  of  abuse  against 
the  Holy  Faith,  against  the  apostles  of  the  Lord, 
against  even  the  sacredness  of  the  revelation  and  cove- 
nant of  plural  marriage.  She  had  even  said  that  she 
didn't  beUeve  it  was  a  revelation. 

42 


THE  GARMENT  OF  SALVATION. 

In  her  desperation  she  had  threatened  him  with  the 
law  of  the  land.  The  law  of  the  land !  When  he  was 
armed  with  the  authority  of  the  Most  High ! 

Oh,  she  had  raved !  The  memory  was  with  her  still. 
It  was  a  case  so  serious  that  no  man,  even  one  so  in- 
experienced in  the  ways  of  many  wives,  could  cope  with 
alone.  So  he  had  gone  back  to  Zion  and  returned,  and, 
with  the  aid  of  other  holy  men,  set  out  to  subdue  the 
awful  spirit  and  set  loose  the  devil  that  had  come  to 
dwell  in  the  person  of  his  seventh  wife. 

These  men  were  all  experienced  in  ''breakini:^  in" 
obstreperous  females.  But  as  a  colt  will  astonish  the 
most  skilful  trainer,  so  did  she  astonish  and  grieve 
those  holy  men.  They  had  to  go  unusual  lengths  to 
subdue  her,  even  to  tying  a  rope  around  her  neck,  none 
too  laxly,  and  throwing  her  into  Salt  Creek.  And  even 
though  she  choked  until  she  was  black  in  the  face  and 
seemed  almost  to  the  point  of  giving  up  her  awful 
spirit  to  the  avenging  God,  still  was  she  not  subdued 
until  to  her  dying  ears  came  the  sound  that  has  taken 
every  mother  throughout  the  ages  into  the  very  den 
of.  the  enemy,  the  cry  of  her  young  in  pain.  She  held 
up  her  hand  in  token  of  submission. 

She  could  stand  torture  for  herself,  but  none  for  her 
baby.  Memory  made  its  anguished  cry  sound  again  in 
her  ears.  For  that,  just  as  the  canny  elder  knew,  when 
he  had  frightened  the  child,  she  would  have  gone  down 
from  heaven  and  entered  the  very  gates  of  hell. 


She  did  not  faint  or  falter  until  she  had  snatched  it 
from  the  old  demon's  arms  and  soothed  and  quieted  it. 
Then  had  come  a  moment  of  blessed  forgetting.    They 

43 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

waited,  those  brave  men,  until  she  "came  to"  and  prom- 
ished  all  they  asked.  Women  usually  promised — of 
course,  there  were  a  few — but  the  desert  tells  no  tales. 
All  this  had  been  long  ago,  and  yet,  by  the  magic  of 
memory,  it  was  to-night.  She  gasped  in  pain,  and, 
putting  her  scarred,  stained  hands  up  to  her  throat, 
loosened  her  collar.  She  caught  her  breath  in  quick, 
painful  jerks.  The  rope !  The  rope  was  there.  There 
where  the  moonlight  shone  on  a  pallid  scar.  She  shiv- 
ered with  the  memory  of  that  icy  water,  she  tasted  the 
brine  in  her  mouth,  and  the  tears  smarted  in  her  eyes. 
She  rose  up  and  stretched  out  her  arms  to  the  night- 
sky. 

The  fire  of  a  long-smoldering  resentment  flamed  up 
and  scorched  her  well-disciplined  soul. 

She  went  into  the  house  and  shook  the  Swedish  girl 
into  wakefulness. 

She  sat  up,  blinking  stupidly.  ''Hilda,"  the  old 
woman  asked,  "have  you  got  on  your  garment?" 

The  girl  nodded,  bewildered. 

"Do  you  know  what  it  means?" 

"Yes,"  the  girl  whispered,  her  big  eyes  dilated  with 
fear.  "Ven  you  talk  vat  you  know,  or  you  break  those 
vows  you  get  killed  so,  on  your  heart." 

The  woman  nodded.  "Good  Mormons  must  wear 
them,  but  not  you,  Hilda." 

"Sometimes,  vat  it  mean  if  you  tak  them  off?"  the 
girl  asked,  in  a  whisper. 

"Sometimes  this,"  the  woman  said,  laying  bare  her 
throat.  The  girl  gasped  with  horror.  "You  ban  hong," 
she  breathed. 

"Listen,"  the  woman  said,  holding  her  arm  tight. 
"Take  off  that  garment,  do  as  I  say,"  as  the  girl  hesi- 

44 


THE  GARMENT  OF  SALVATION. 

tated,  frightened  out  of  her  wits.    ''SHp  on  your  shoes 
and  come  with  me." 


They  half-ran  down  the  steep  Uttle  path  to  the 
river  and  both  knelt  on  the  bank,  and  Hilda,  shaking 
with  fear,  obeyed  the  gesture  of  the  woman's  hand  and 
threw  the  sacred  garment  out  into  the  rushing  current 
of  the  moon-silvered  river.  They  watched  its  swift 
sailing  on  the  breast  of  the  tide  with  superstitious  awe, 
then  climbed  the  rugged  path  back  to  the  house. 

The  woman  knelt  down  by  the  sleeping  children  and 
wakened  the  boy. 

''Willie,"  she  said,  'look  here." 
*T  seen  that  before,"  he  said,  as  his  eyes  followed 
her  fingers  to  the  scar. 

''Willie,  I  hate  your  father !" 

"Un-hun,"  Willie  acquiesced,  sleepily.  Then  to 
change  an  unpleasant  subject,  said:  "Maw,  I  want  a 
nickel  to-morrow.     I  gotta  get  a  tablet." 

Wilhe  threatened  to  lapse  again  into  insensibility, 
but  his  mother  shook  him. 

"Listen,"  she  said  again.  Willie  and  the  strange 
girl  from  Sweden  listened,  wondering  and  afraid. 

"I  hate  your  father ;  I've  hated  him  for  forty  years, 
forty  years,"  she  repeated.  "He  is  an  old  man  and 
I  am  an  old  woman,  but  I  have  hated  him  every  day 
and  every  hour  since  that  time  when  he  helped  them  to 
do  this." 

She  put  her  hand  up  to  her  throat,  and  the  boy 
sobbed  breathlessly. 

"He  never  supported  me,  never,  although  he  is  a 
rich  man. 

45 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

"I've  worked  all  my  life  with  these  hands."  She 
held  them  out  in  witness. 

"I  have  starved  and  cared  for  fourteen  children. 
You  are  almost  raised  now.  Before  many  years  I  can 
rest,  rest."  Her  voice  dropped  and  lingered  over  the 
word.  "Through  all  these  years  I  have  worn  the 
garment,  I  have  paid  my  tithing,  I  have  gone  humbly 
before  all  men.  I  have  never  been  housed,  or  clothed, 
or  fed  as  a  decent  woman  should  be.  I  have  thought 
that  I  could  endure  to  the  end,  but  to-night  I  am 
through." 

She  loosened  her  gown,  and  they  heard  the  tearing 
of  a  cotton  fabric. 

"Listen,"  her  voice  had  sunk  to  a  whisper.  "In  the 
morning  I  am  going  to  Salt  Lake  to  see  your  father. 
When  I  come  back  we  four  will  get  on  the  cars  and 
go  away." 

"Maw,"  the  boy  caught  at  her  hand,  "what  are  you 
going  to  do?"  he  sobbed. 

"I  am  going  to  your  father.  I  am  going  to  lock  him 
in  his  room,  and  hold  this" — she  laughed  huskily  and 
walked  over  to  the  bureau,  and  took  from  a  drawer 
a  little  box;  this  she  opened  and  they  saw  something- 
gleam  like  silver  in  the  moonlight — "this  revolver  to 
his  head  until  he  draws  a  check  of  five  thousand  dollars 
to  me.  If  he  won't — but  he  will,"  she  answered  her 
own  doubt. 

She  caressed  the  shining  thing  before  she  put  it  back 
into  the  box. 


She  didn't  put  the  box  back  into  the  drawer  again, 
but  dropped  it  into  an  old  shopping-bag. 

46 


THE  GARMENT  OF  SALVATION, 

The  boy  whimpered  and  the  little  girl  stirred  rest- 
lessly in  her  sleep.  The  woman  lit  a  lamp.  When  she 
spoke  again,  her  voice  sounded  so  assured  and  natural 
that  the  tense  lines  of  terror  in  the  Swedish  girl's  face 
relaxed,  and  the  boy  lay  back  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"You  will  stay  with  the  children,  Hilda,  you  needn't 
go  to  school,  Willie." 

Willie  nodded  in  drowsy  relief. 

'T'll  take  the  early  train  over  and  will  try  to  be  back 
by  two  o'clock.  Don't  be  afraid."  She  put  her  hands 
on  the  girl's  for  an  instant. 

"There  is  law  now,  thank  God,  oh,  thank  God !  We 
are  going,  mark  me,  we  are  going." 

The  morning  papers  in  Salt  Lake  City  chronicled  the 
sudden  death  the  day  before  of  one  of  its  early  pion- 
eers, a  bishop  in  the  church. 

The  death  had  been  unexpected,  although  the  doctor 
had  warned  them  of  the  danger  of  a  sudden  shock.  But 
as  far  as  his  family  knew,  he  had  received  none. 

A  check  for  five  thousand  dollars  had  been  made 
out  by  him  and  dated  the  very  day  of  his  death.  The 
check  was  made  out  to  and  cashed  by  one  of  the  la- 
mented's  first  wives,  who,  the  papers  stated,  had  left 
Ogden  the  evening  before. 


47 


V. 

THE  ISLES  THAT  WAIT. 


Who  are  these  that  fly  as  a  cloud,  and  as   doves  to  their 
window?     Surely  the  isles  shall  wait  for  me. — Isaiah  lx.  9. 


Bishop  Jones  had  led  a  long  life,  and  stood  as  an  ex- 
ample to  the  youth  of  Zion.  He  had  raised  some  fifty- 
odd  saplings  in  the  vineyard  of  the  Lord,  and  had 
builded  him  an  enormous  business,  from  the  employees 
of  which  was  weekly  gathered  a  goodly  sum  in  tithing 
for  the — but  just  what,  no  man  rightly  knows,  though 
there  are  some  so  gross  as  to  say,  for  the  enrichment 
of  the  leaders  in  this  cause  of  righteousness. 

The  bishop  interpreted  the  scriptural  command  as 
to  the  trimming  of  his  lamp,  that  it  might  be  bright  and 
burning  on  the  day  of  His  coming,  to  mean  that  he 
must  take  unto  himself  as  many  wives  as  he  could  get, 
and  sedulously  fulfil  the  commandment  to  increase  and 
multiply,  by  bringing  all  the  olive  branches  possible 
into  the  world,  from  which  to  wave  the  proud  banner 
of  his  name. 

If  by  chance  any  one  confronted  the  bishop  with 
certain  laws  made  by  the  land  which  sheltered  him,  or 
even  mentioned  a  certain  passage  in  Christ's  sermon  on 
the  mount,  he  would  turn  to  his  much-bethumbed  book 
of  the  Doctrine  and  Covenants,  and,  finding  the  one 
hundred  and  thirty-second  section,  would  point  a  long 

48 


THE  ISLES  THAT  WAIT. 

forefinger  to  certain  unmistakable  language  given 
therein :  *'And  if  any  man  espouse  a  virgin  and  desire 
to  espouse  another,  and  the  first  give  her  consent ;  and 
he  espouse  another  and  they  are  vowed  to  no  other 
man,  then  he  is  justified,  for  he  cannot  commit  adultery 
with  that  which  belongeth  to  him  and  no  one  else.  And 
if  he  have  ten  virgins  given  unto  him  by  the  law,  he 
cannot  commit  adultery,  for  they  are  given  unto  him, 
therefore  he  is  justified.  But  if  any  one  or  either  of 
the  ten  virgins  after  she  is  espoused,  shall  be  with  an- 
other man,  she  has  committed  adultery,  for  they  are 
given  to  him  to  multiply  and  replenish  the  earth,  ac- 
cording to  the  commandment  given  to  my  father  before 
the  foundation  of  the  world." 


It  is  probable  that  such  a  commandment  was  given 
before  the  foundation  of  this  world,  for,  since  we  are 
given  to  understand  that  He  who  founded  it  put  there- 
on people  with  some  ideas  of  decency  (witness  the  fig- 
leaf),  we  know  that  if  He  had  waited  until  after  this 
to  give  such  a  licentious,  self-debasing  command,  they 
wouldn't  have  stood  for  it.  Secondly,  if  we  were  to 
subscribe  to  that  revelation,  we  must  admit  that  the 
Savior  of  humanity  was  mistaken,  for  we  have  heard 
it  said  that  He  said  that  ''Whosoever  looketh  on  a 
woman  to  lust  after  her  hath  committed  adultery  al- 
ready in  his  heart."     (Christ's  sermon  on  the  mount.) 

Is  there,  then,  another,  truer  teaching  than  Christ's  ? 
The  bishop  would  so  have  us  believe. 

Then,  too,  if  we  follow  the  bishop,  it  is  no  sin,  but 
rather  a  virtue  for  the  male  portion  of  creation  to  com- 
mit adultery,  but  it  is  a  sin  unpardonable  for  that  part 

49 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

which  was  made  from  his  rib  to  so  much  as  flutter  an 
eyelash  in  any  direction  than  that  of  her  sectional  hus- 
band. We,  who  know  our  Doctrine  and  Covenants, 
know  well  the  fate  that  threatened  Sarah  if  she  ob- 
jected to  her  husband  increasing  his  marital  business. 
But  even  so,  there  are  women,  it  is  written  with  hesi- 
tation, right  in  Zion  who  are  not  willing  to  be,  or  happy 
after  being,  polygamous  helpmates.  That  they  are  not 
fully  content  with  the  practise  of  the  divine  revelation 
showed  quite  clearly  in  the  conversation  held  one  after- 
noon in  Sister  Jones'  kitchen  by  a  number  of  sisters 
of  the  faith.  Sister  Jones  was  one  of  the  first  of  the 
bishop's  several  wives.  As  sometimes  happens  in  a 
Mormon  family  it  had  fallen  to  one  of  the  wives  to 
care  for  the  children  of  several.  Some  of  the  wives 
may  die,  and  some  be  compelled  to  work  in  order  to 
support  themselves  and  children.  Such  a  lot  had  been 
Sister  Jones'. 

A  good  Mormon  woman  should  desire  nothing  be- 
yond the  plainest  necessities:  it  is  not  good  for  them, 
and  tends  to  distract  the  mind  from  the  privilege  of 
holiness.  It  is  much  safer  to  entrust  a  man  with 
what  he  wants :  he  can  keep  his  eye  on  the  reward  of 
the  spirit  while  he  caters  to  the  lusts  of  the  flesh — 
but  a  woman !  That  is  different.  It  is  safe  to  assume 
that  if  she  has  a  full  stomach  she  will  want  a  new 
dress ;  if  she  gets  a  new  dress  she  will  want  a  new  hat, 
so  that  she  can  go  out  to  show  it ;  if  she  has  the  hat, 
the  chances  are  nine  out  of  ten  that  she  will  *'set  up" 
for  shoes,  and  there  you  are !  A  woman  and  small 
children  have  much  need  to  learn  *The  Word  of 
Wisdom,"  which  means  that  you  must  not  have  what 
you  want. 

50 


THE  ISLES  THAT  WAIT. 

This  Sister  Jones  was,  generally  speaking,  a  good 
soul,  but  she  had  moments  of  recklessness ;  she  had  to- 
day when  Sister  Johnston  and  Sister  Slocum  and  two 
of  the  teachers  all  happened  to  come  in.  It  was  a 
rainy  day,  and  they  tracked  in  considerable  mud  on  her 
freshly  scrubbed  floor.  Dolly,  a  child  of  one  of  the 
younger  wives,  who  was  out  working,  had  the  mumps, 
and  sat  by  the  fire  with  her  grotesquely  swollen  little 
face  swathed  about  with  spicy-smelling  flannel  cloths. 

It  was  Easter  week,  and  Sister  Johnston,  who  was 
an  English  woman,  and  who,  even  in  Zion,  cherished 
some  of  the  traditions  of  her  country,  had  brought 
over  a  pan»of  her  hot  cross  buns.  The  little  girl  held 
one  of  them  in  her  hand,  but  had  refrained,  after  the 
first  painful  bite,  from  eating  it.  Her  flushed  little 
face  was  sullen  with  discontent.  Sister  Johnston  looked 
discontented,  too — the  buns  made  her  homesick  for  her 
happier  life  in  the  Fatherland.  Sister  Jones'  face  wore 
the  same  expression.  She  was  ironing;  she  spat  on 
the  iron,  to  test  its  temperature,  with  some  fierceness. 
"Often  and  often  I  wonder  what  it's  all  for,"  she  said. 

Sister  Johnston  seemed  to  know  what  she  meant. 
"So  do  h'l.     Life  ain't  worth  nothing  to  me." 

"I  was  at  meetin'  last  night,"  Sister  Slocum  said; 
"an  elder  was  sayin'  that  we  won't  have  to  look  to  this 
world,  but  get  our  joy  in  the  next;  'tain't  but  a  few 
more  years  now  till  Christ  comes  to  reward  the  faith- 
ful," she  sighed."* 

"Well,  eternity's  all  right,  I  suppose,"  Sister  Jones 
said  grudgingly,  "but  I  can't  make  out,  if  they  are 
so  sure  Christ  is  coming  so  soon,  why  they  keep  on 

*The  Mormons  teach  that  Christ  is  coming  in  1914. 
51 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

building  churches,  and  fine  houses,  and  bringing  chil- 
dren into  the  world.  That  ain't  no  fitting  way  to  get 
ready  for  Him,  seems  to  me." 

One  of  the  teachers,  feehng  the  heresy  in  this  re- 
mark, hastened  to  interpose  before  Sister  Johnston  (al- 
ways a  dissenter)  sided  in.  ''Sister  Jones,"  she  said, 
*'the  commandment  is  to  keep  your  lamp  trimmed  and 
burning." 

Sister  Jones  glanced  at  the  child  and  said  bitterly: 
'Well,  He  will  find  plenty  of  candles  burning,  if  that's 
what  you  mean.  'Pears  to  me  that  if  the  men  filled 
some  other  part  of  the  Scripture  as  faithful  as  they  do 
the  *Be  fruitful'  part,  it  would  be  a  better  world." 

This  time  Sister  Johnston  did  side  in.  "So  do  h'l," 
she  said  sententiously.  "Bishop  was  around  to  see  me 
again  yesterday,  about  going  through  the  temple.  He 
thinks  h'l  ought  to  get  sealed  to  John.  I  don't  see 
why ;  we  was  married  tight  and  fast  enough  in  h'Eng- 
land.  But  he  said  we  ought  to  be  sealed  for  eternity. 
'H'indeed  h'l  don't,'  h'l  says  to  him,  *h'I  get  too  much 
of  'im  'ere.    H'l  want  some  rest  if  h'l  get  to  'eaven !'  " 

"Still,"  the  teacher  objected,  "a  woman  can't  get  to 
heaven  unless  she  is  led  by  a  man,  and  you  won't  have 
a  man  to  lead  you  if  you  ain't  sealed  to  one." 

"Huh  !"  sniflfed  Sister  Johnston,  "seems  like  a  woman 
'as  got  to  'ave  'ell  on  this  world,  in  h'order  to  escape 
it  h'in  the  next." 

"It  does  so,"  agreed  Sister  Jones.  She  glanced  at 
the  pan  of  buns,  at  the  big  basket  of  unironed  clothes, 
back  at  the  buns,  hesitated,  and  was  lost.  "Let's  have 
a  cup  of  tea,"  she  said  venturesomely,  "and  eat  Sister 
Johnston's  buns." 

52 


THE  ISLES  THAT  WAIT. 

"'Ave  you  black  tea?"  quavered  Sister  Johnstorx 
hopefully. 

"Make  Mormon  tea,"  admonished  the  teacher.  "It's 
against  the  word  of  wisdom  to  use  tea  or  coffee  except 
in  case  of  sickness." 

"I'm  sick,"  the  child  said. 

"We  are  all  sick,"  Sister  Jones  added.  "Heart  and 
soul  sick.  If  I  want  a  brewin'  of  black  tea,  I'm  going 
to  have  it;  wisdom  or  no." 

"Well,"  the  teacher  admitted  yieldingly,  "we  are 
mortal  damp." 


So  Sister  Jones  made  her  unchristian  cup  of  tea,  and 
set  aside  her  ironing,  and  the  four  women  gathered 
around  the  table  and  drank  it,  and  ate  Sister  John- 
ston's buns.  Sister  Jones  became  quite  garrulous  over 
her  second  cup,  and  the  intoxicating  experience  of  sit- 
ting down  in  the  daytime.  The  faces  of  Sisters  John- 
ston and  Slocum,  and  of  one  of  the  teachers  reflected 
sympathy,  and  of  the  other  teacher,  to  whom  a 
new  idea  was  as  unwelcome  to  her  mind  as  was  a  draft 
to  the  back  of  her  neck,  disapproval  with  Sister  Jones' 
daring  remarks:  "Bearin'  the  souls  of  men,  as  the 
Cov'nant  says,  ain't  all  a  woman  wants  in  this  world," 
Sister  Jones  said.  "I  bore  thirteen  myself,  and  raised 
as  many  more,  but  do  you  think  that  has  satisfied  all 
my  longings?  It  ain't.  When  I  was  a  girl,  back  in 
Missoury,  I  used  to  read  novels — wa'n't  no  harm  in 
them,"  in  response  to  the  teacher's  look,  "and  I  always 
dreamed  of  the  way  them  book  folks  lived.  Maybe  it's 
wicked,  but  I  always  kept  it  in  mind  ;  their  lives  seemed 
so — so  full,  some  way.    My !  how  I  would  like  to  hear 

53 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

folks  like  them  talk,  the  way  they  do  in  books,  where 
they  just  break  off  in  the  sentence  and  finish  in  French 
or  some  forrin'  tongue.  'Pears  to  me  that  if  God  should 
judge  agin'  them,  they  could  just  smile  any  way,  and 
say,  I've  had  my  heaven  here.'  " 

The  teacher  breathed  a  chesty  sigh.  "  'Tain't  ours 
to  judge,  sister,"  she  said.  She  glanced  toward  the 
child,  now  half-asleep  in  her  chair.  **Dally  ought  not 
to  hear  such  talk,"  she  said. 

Sister  Jones  poured  some  more  hot  water  over  the 
tea-grounds.  *'Do  you  suppose  it  would  hurt  Dally 
any  more  than  what  she  heard  her  paw  say  the  other 
morning?"  she  asked,  her  tired  old  eyes  flashing  with 
indignation.  "I  don't  know  as  I  have  a  call  to  be 
shielding  him,"  she  said,  as  in  answer  to  an  inner 
thought.  "He  ain't  smoothed  my  path  none.  Sister 
Libbie,  Daily's  maw,  has  just  been  put  to  it  to  raise 
money  to  pay  Willie's  doctor  bill.  Yes,  he's  some 
better,  but  the  poor  boy  is  pretty  miserable  yet.  Dally 
here  was  just  barefoot  and  had  to  have  shoes  before  she 
could  start  into  school  Monday.  I  says  to  her  maw 
that  I'd  go  see  her  paw  and  see  if  he  wouldn't  get  her 
shoes  (it's  almost  lucky  she  has  the  mumps  now,  it 
gives  me  an  excuse  to  send  the  teacher).  It's  been 
years  since  I've  asked  for  so  much  as  that."  She 
snapped  her  toil-blunted  fingers.  "Well,  come  Mon- 
day, I  took  her  and  went  up  to  his  office.  I  wanted  to 
get  the  money  and  get  her  shoes  before  school  called. 
She  had  to  wear  a  pair  of  her  maw's,  and  she  hung 
back,  pouting,  for  fear  some  of  her  mates  should 
see  her  and  call  shame  to  her.  Her  poor  little  feet 
were  rattling  like  peas  in  a  pod,  the  shoes  was  so 
loose  on  her,  and  I  didn't  blame  her  much.     I  was 

54 


THE  ISLES  THAT  WAIT. 

plumb  took  back  when  I  went  into  his  office.  He  always 
tells  us  that  he  is  so  poor  that  he  can  scarce  make  out ; 
but,  shucks !  There  was  carpet  on  the  floor,  and  he  was 
sitting  at  a  handsome  desk  in  one  of  them  turnin'- 
chairs.  He  didn't  look  poor.  I  went  up  to  him  and 
said,  shortlike,  that  I  had  come  for  money  to  get  the 
child  some  shoes.  He  looked  at  me,  smiling,  and  asked 
*Why?'  'Because  you  brought  her  into  the  world,' 
I  said,  and  he  answered  me  with  these  w^ords.  Dally 
heard  him,  poor  little  thing:  'If  I  bought  shoes  for 
every  brat  I  have  brought  into  the  world,'  he  says,  'I'd 
be  a  poor  man.'  '' 

******* 

Little  Dally  roused  up  and  began  to  cry.  *']\Iy  ears 
ache,"  she  sobbed.  The  old  lady  took  her  up  in  her 
arms.  "That's  just  what  that  man  said,  wasn't  it, 
auntie?''  she  whimpered. 

"That  man !  Why,  land  sakes,  child,  'e's  your  paw  !" 
Sister  Johnston  exclaimed,  scandalized. 

"She  scarce  senses  it,"  Sister  Jones  said.  "She 
ain't  seen  him  but  a  few  times ;  he  ain't  no  m.ore  a 
paw  to  her,  the  w-ay  I  sense  the  relationship,  than  that 
there  man  across  the  street.  He  used  to  notice  some  of 
the  first  children,  but  now  he  don't  know  these  here 
ones  by  sight.  There,  there,  Dally,  stop  crying.  I 
know  they  ache,  but  that  hot  flannel'll  ease  them.  Oh, 
it's  the  shoes  you're  crying  about?  Well,  shut  up, 
then ;  didn't  I  tell  you  I'd  get  you  some  as  soon  as  I 
finish  this  ironing,  and  ]\Iiss  Silver  pays  me?" 

"Of  course,''  the  teacher  conceded,  "Bishop  ought 
not  to  have  spoke  so.  But  I  suppose  he  is  pestered 
awful.  He  can't  be  expected  to  put  out  money  on  all 
his  children,  even  President  Smith  don't  do  that." 

55 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

"That's  what  I  say  ain't  right,"  Sister  Jones  said, 
clearing  away  the  tea  things  and  getting  her  ironing- 
board  out.  "A  man  ought  to  provide  for  what  he 
brings  in  the  world." 

"That's  what  I  think,  too,"  Sister  Slocum  said.  "And 
if  I  have  to  get  to  heaven  by  hangin'  on  to  some  of 
these  old  Mormons'  hands,  I'd  about  as  soon  not  go." 

The  teachers  looked  at  each  other,  and  the  younger 
shook  her  head.  Three  dissenters  in  one  afternoon! 
But  there  was  no  need  in  argument ;  they  saw  that. 
When  they  rose  to  go,  however,  the  elder  onfc  gripped 
her  duty  in  both  hands,  and  asked  them  urgently  to 
come  to  meeting. 

Sister  Jones  shook  her  head  as  she  smoothed  a 
garment  over  the  ironing-board.  "I  might  drag  my 
legs  to  the  meetin'-house/'  she  said,  "but  after  what 
the  bishop  said  yesterday  I  couldn't  whip  my  soul  into 
submission.  If  I'm  lost,  I'm  lost.  But  after  all  these 
years,  after  seeing  my  children  scattered  about  by  the 
winds  of  adversity,  and  me  at  sixty  taking  in  washing 
for  a  living,  and  him  to  speak  to  me  like  that — no,  I 
can't  go  to  meeting.  I  will  pray  to  Him  here.  All  I 
want  now  is  some  place  to  rest ;  maybe  I'll  find  some 
little  spot  among  all  them  mansions.  But  I'll  wait 
here." 


S6 


VI. 

A  FIRST  WIFE. 

Ruth  Simms  had  Hved  all  of  her  life  in  the  shadow  of 
the  temple.  She  knew  its  every  curve  and  angle,  and 
as  familiar  as  her  own  father,  was  the  form  of  the 
Angel  Moroni  who  stands  in  gilded  splendor  on  the 
eastern  tower  of  that  remarkable  building,  built  as  was 
Solomon's  temple  of  old,  without  sound  of  hammer, 
but  reverently,  brick  on  brick,  into  a  mighty  monument 
of  faith. 

Ruth  believed  that  within  those  walls  one  learned 
the  mystery  of  God  and  the  purpose  of  life;  she 
thrilled  with  awe  at  the  prospect  of  entering  its  sacred 
walls,  to  be  sealed  for  time  and  eternity  to  Wilson 
Herrick,  and  to  look  at  last  upon  the  truth  revealed. 

Not  every  couple  in  Zion  are  deemed  worthy,  by 
those  in  authority,  to  be  sealed  in  this  holy  of  holies ; 
some  are  married  by  the  bishops  in  the  ward  meeting- 
houses, for  time,  and  must  prove  their  fitness  by  a 
sedulous  obedience  to  the  laws  of  the  church,  before 
they  can  enter  the  temple.  For  not  even  under  the 
very  thumb  of  the  Presidency  is  every  spiritual  lamp 
kept  properly  trimmed,  for  even  as  did  the  serpent 
enter  into  the  garden,  so  now,  in  the  very  shadow  of 
the  temple  entereth  worldliness,  worldliness,  my  chil- 
dren, so  that  not  all  are  fitted  to  "walk  with  him  in 
white  garments." 

57 


THE  REVELATION  IN  THE  MOUNTAIN. 

Ruth  was  worthy;  both  by  reason  of  the  standing 
of  her  family  in  the  church,  and  her  own  earnest  work 
in  the  Sabbath  school  and  the  "Mutual,"  was  she 
both  called  and  chosen  for  the  temple  rites,  and  as 
for  Elder  Herrick — was  he  not  just  returned  from  a 
fruitful  mission  in  Australia  where  his  beguiling  eye 
and  plausible  tongue  had  fully  persuaded  a  number 
of  souls,  tottering  on  the  very  brink  of  apostasy,  to 
seek  the  green  fields  of  Zion  and  there  await  the  com- 
ing of  the  King?  Elder  Herrick  had  done  well,  he  had 
returned  with  a  goodly  number  of  the  saved  souls  of 
the  enemy  as  did  the  warriors  of  old  with  their  scalps, 
into  the  camps  of  his  fathers ;  he  had  brought  with  him 
converts  who  had  filled  his  people  with  pleasure,  for 
even  as  there  is  more  rejoicing  in  heaven  over  the  one 
lost  sheep  than  over  the  ninety  and  nine  that  stayed 
about  the  fold,  so  is  there  in  Zion  over  the  one  convert 
with  money  than  over  the  ninety  and  nine  who  count 
their  small  change,  and  the  elder  had  brought  with 
him  two  families  of  wealth  to  give  a  tenth  of  their  sub- 
stance to  the  cause  of  Righteousness,  so  verily  was  he 
worthy  when  the  day  dawned  that  he  and  his  bride 
were  to  make  ready  for  the  anointing  in  the  name  of 
the   Spirit. 

Ruth  entered  the  temple  in  thrilled  exaltation,  and 
walked  through  the  first  rooms  of  the  endowment  with 
a  feeling  as  though  she  was  approaching  the  very  gate 
of  glory,  but  some  of  the  service  worried  her,  and 
some  of  the  promises  she  made,  gave  her  a  vague  pain 
of  foreboding,  and  in  that  chamber  where  the  rended 
veil  shows  a  skeleton  of  horror  instead  of  an  angel 
of  light,  she  fainted — brides  often  do — and  was  sealed 
by  proxy — brides  often  are. 

58 


A    FIRST    WIFE. 

For  the  ceremony,  as  to  the  time  it  takes  to  be  per- 
formed, gives  a  foretaste  of  the  eternity  for  which  it 
it  preparing,  and  as  there  are  no  refreshment  stands 
in  the  temple,  the  spirit  does  not  always  support  the 
body  of  the  devotee  all  the  way  through,  but  they  al- 
ways see  enough  to  remember — and  usually  to  obey. 

Ruth  loved  her  husband  with  all  the  ardor  of  her 
nature,  and  in  those  first  days  when  they  spent  their 
honeymoon  at  the  Great  Salt  Lake,  set  like  a  jewel 
in  the  hills,  and  reflecting  the  intense,  cloudless  blue 
of  Utah's  summer  skies,  to  the  lovely  Lagoon,  where 
a  fresh-water  lake  snuggles  close  under  the  shadow  of 
the  mountain,  through  the  grand  caiions  of  the  Wasatch 
and  back  to  their  own  little  adobe  home  on  the  shore 
of  the  Jordan  River,  she  thought  that  she  had  sensed 
in  the  silences  of  God's  outdoor  temples  the  mystery 
and  the  meaning  of  life  which  she  had  failed  to  grasp 
in  the  mighty  tabernacle  made  with  hands.  She  made 
of  her  home  a  shrine.  She  was  a  housewifely,  domes- 
tic little  woman,  and  each  article  of  furniture  that  came 
into  the  house  filled  her  with  a  joyous  sense  of  pos- 
session. She  loved  to  move  them  about ;  to  drape  back 
her  crisp  new  curtains  in  new  ways,  and  to  cut  won- 
derful, intricate,  scalloped  edges  in  paper  to  decorate 
her  cupboard  shelves,  and  on  which  she  arranged  and 
rearranged  her  adored  rosebud  china  and  her  little 
blue  tea  set.  It  gave  her  a  sense  of  fulfilment  to  make 
a  batch  of  bread  "turn  out"  right,  and  a  joy  bordering 
on  ecstasy  to  have  her  husband  praise  a  meal  or  the 
shining  order  of  her  house.  Later  came  the  greater 
joy  of  fashioning  tiny  garments  for  the  coming  of  a 
little  child,  and  when  he  came !  Ah !  but  Ruth  was  a 
happy  woman. 

59 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

She  went  to  the  mothers'  meeting  with  a  quivering 
joy  at  her  right  to  be  there,  and  marveled  at  the 
world-weary,  saddened  faces  of  some  of  the  older 
women,  and,  against  her  will,  came  memories  of  old 
tales  thronging  up  over  the  threshold  of  her  conscious 
happiness ;  tales  of  the  early  days  in  Zion,  when  sor- 
row and  women  walked  hand  in  hand.  Her  own 
mother  had  been  a  fifth  wife,  and,  looking  back,  she 
could  not  remember  to  have  seen  her  smile.  But  youth 
takes  the  sorrows  of  age  for  granted.  Ruth  believed 
in  the  Doctrine  and  Covenant.  She  believed  that  the 
revelation,  regarding  the  plurality  of  wives,  to  have 
come  from  God ;  and  a  commandment  was  a  command- 
ment— she  knew  that.  She  loved  her  father  and  had 
an  affection  for  all  his  wives.  She  believed  that  the 
president  of  the  church  was  right  to  cleave  unto  the 
five  wives  the  Lord  had  given  him,  and  to  contend  that 
the  law  of  God  (as  given  to  His  seer  and  prophet) 
was  better  to  hold  fast  to  than  the  law  made  by  men 
unguided  by  any  light  other  than  that  which  shone 
about  a  political  platform.  She  believed  in  the  church 
law  rather  than  the  land's  law — but  still — she  fell  in 
step  with  old  Sister  Clausen  when  they  came  out  of 
meeting  and  asked  breathlessly :  ''Have  you  ever  been 
happy,  Sister  Clausen?" 

Sister  Clausen  raised  her  whitish-brown  cotton  um- 
brella as  a  shield  against  the  too  persistent  spring  sun- 
shine and  looked  out  from  under  its  shadow  at  her 
questioner  with  a  ruminating  light  in  her  faded  eyes. 

"I  d'know  as  'twas  meant  fur  us  to  be  what  you 
call  happy,"  she  said  slowly. 

"But  were  you,"  the  girl  persisted,  "when  you  were 
young  ?" 

60 


A    FIRST    WIFE. 

"That  was  a  good  time  ago,"  the  old  lady  hedged, 
then  added  a  trifle  impatiently :  "Cain't  you  be  content 
if  you  be  happy  yourself  without  worrin'  about  oth- 
ers?" 

Ruth  sighed,  *1  got  to  thinking  about  polygamy  in 
meeting,"  she  said;  "I  was  wondering  how  you  stood 
it,  if  you  loved  your  husband  as  I  love  Wilse." 

The  old  lady  was  silent  until  she  reached  and  turned 
into  her  own  gate ;  she  spoke  then  as  she  fumbled  with 
the  latch.     "We  loved  our  husbands,"  she  said,  ''and 

we  stood  it,  some  of  us  did.     But "  she  hesitated, 

then  added  so  low  that  the  girl  just  caught  the  words, 
"it  was  to  our  hearts  like  black  frost  would  be  to  them 
flowers,"  pointing  to  a  bed  of  scarlet  tulips,  "it  with- 
ered them."  She  put  down  her  umbrella  and  started 
up  the  path,  then  turned  and  leaned  over  the  fence 
to  whisper  to  the  girl,  "I  hope  Brother  Wilson  won't 
be  called  to  take  no  more." 

"Oh!  He  won't— he  can't,"  Ruth  gasped,  almost 
running  in  her  haste  to  get  away. 

She  caught  her  baby  up  in  her  arms  the  moment 
she  reached  home  and  looked  deep  in  his  vague,  wide- 
open  eyes.  She  held  him  to  her  so  passionately  that 
he  cried  out  and  she  smothered  his  little  face  with 
kisses.  He  was  the  visible  bond  between  her  husband 
and  herself.  She  could  stand — she  thought  with  a  sob, 
to  have  him  love  another  woman — if — if  God  meant 
that — but  not — not  to  see  or  to  know  that  he  could  fon- 
dle another's  child  on  his  knee.  She  carried  the  baby  out 
on  the  porch,  around  which  the  vines  were  beginning 
to  show  green,  and  looked  through  their  tender  foHage 
to  the  hills,  flushed  in  the  glory  of  the  sunset,  and 
to  her  fear-awakened  soul  it  seemed  as  though  the  red 

6i 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

glow  was  as  from  the  stain  of  the  blood  of  the  women 
martyred  by  a  cruel,  perverted  law,  and  her  soul  sick- 
ened with  memories  of  the  past  and  a  new  apprehen- 
sion of  the  future.  She  saw  her  husband  turn  down 
the  street,  but  her  feet  felt  weighted  so  that  she  could 
not  go  to  meet  him.  He  came  bounding  up  the  steps 
and  caught  the  baby  in  his  arms. 

The  baby  screamed  with  delight  and  buried  his  tiny 
fists  in  his  hair.  "Make  him  let  go,  Ruthie,"  he  said 
laughingly,  ''and  protect  me  from  his  onslaughts  until 
I  can  get  in  the  house." 

Ruth  loosened  the  baby's  hands,  kissing  each  little 
pink  palm  in  a  passion  of  love.  "You  won't  ever  love 
another  one  like  you  do  this?"  she  asked,  forcing  his 
careless  glance  to  her  white  face. 

"Why— why  I  reckon  I'd  love  'em  all  the  same," 
he  said.  "I  suppose  the  little  shavers  bring  the  love 
with  them." 

"Would  you,"  Ruth  caught  at  his  hand  as  he  turned 
to  enter  the  house,  "love  him  just  the  same  if— if  some 
other  woman  was — was  his  mother  ?" 

''Reckon  so,  if  he  was  as  cute  as  this  fellow,"  he  said, 
holding  out  his  hands  to  the  baby,  but  his  mother  held 
him  close.  "The  worst  of  it  is,"  she  half-whispered, 
"is  the  children." 

"Huh!"  he  said  carelessly,  then  added,  "Seems  to 
me  it's  feeding-time ;  where's  supper  ?" 

"I  haven't  it  cooked  yet,  Wilse,"  Ruth  faltered,  "I 
—I  went  to  mothers'  meeting"— he  smiled  approval— 
"and  I  don't  know  why,  but  I  got  to  thinking  about 
Sister  Clausen  and  Grandma  Todd  and  a  lot  of  the 
women,  and  wondering  that  they  all  looked  so,  so — 
well,  sort  of  through  with  things,  and  then  I  got  to 

6.2 


A   FIRST    WIFE. 

thinking  about  polygamy— I  never  thought  of  it  so  be- 
fore— but — but  it  seems  so  cruel "  she  hesitated, 

and  laid  one  cheek  against  the  baby's  soft,  feathery 
hair. 

A  frown  darkened  her  husband's  face. 

"You  could  better  have  been  thinking  of  your  soul's 
salvation,"  he  said  in  his  mission  voice,  ''than  pre- 
suming to  criticize  (as  I  see  you  were)  one  of  the 
blessed  commandments  of  the  Father." 

"But — Wilson,  you  don't  believe  in  it — now  ?" 

"The  will  of  the  Father  is  the  same,  yesterday,  to- 
day, and  forever,"  he  said  sententiously. 

"Oh,  Wilson,"  Ruth  cried  piteously,  "you — you 
couldn't  marry  again,  say  you  couldn't !" 

"Not  unless  it  is  the  will  of  the  Father.  Look  here, 
Ruth,  do  you  believe  in  the  testimony  of  the  golden 
plates  of  Nephi?" 

"Yes " 

"You  believe— know,  that  Joseph  Smith  was  a 
prophet  of  Almighty  God  ?" 

"Yes." 

"You  know  that  the  Mormons  are  His  chosen  peo- 
ple—we are  the  church  who  restored  the  scriptures  to 
a  sinful  world,  and  carry  the  torch  to  Hght  the  way  to 
salvation." 

"Yes,"  Ruth  said  uncertainly.  She  was  not  think- 
ing of  what  he  said  at  all,  but  of  how  blue  his  eyes 
were  and  how  pretty  his  hair  waved  off  of  his  still 
boyish  forehead,  and  wondering  if  one  of  those  girls, 
those  rich  convert  girls  from  Australia,  who  had  come 
all  of  the  long  journey  in  his  company,  had  noticed 
them,  too,  and  if — if 

"Then,"  concluded  her  husband,  a  touch  of  impa- 

63 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

tience  in  his  voice,  ''you  must  accept  His  law  on  all 
matters.  If  polygamy  was  His  divine  command,  and 
was  ever  right,  it  is  right  now.  No  puerile  law  can 
alter  that." 

"But  do  you  believe  it  is  right?" 

"I  know  it !"  A  light  of  religious  fanaticism  kindled 
in  his  eye.  "All  of  our  great  leaders  have  been  po- 
lygamists — do  you  think  they  were  wrong,  when  they 
were  allowed  to  talk  face  to  face  with  our  Lord?" 

But  Ruth  was  sobbing  helplessly,  wiping  her  eyes 
on  a  bit  of  the  baby's  ruffled  petticoat. 

"You  act,"  her  husband  said  sternly,  "as  though  I 
had  married  again." 

"But  I  am  so  afraid  you  will,"  the  girl  sobbed. 

**Not  unless  God  so  ordains." 

*'But  He  always  ordains  just  what  the  men  want," 
she  cried. 

"Ruth,"  his  tone  was  new  to  her,  "put  the  baby 
down  and  get  supper,  I  must  go  to  the  councilors' 
meeting." 

Ruth  put  the  baby  in  his  carriage  and  tried  to  smile 
in  his  wondering  little  face  with  her  trembling  lips, 
then  went  into  her  little  pantry,  with  all  its  bravery 
of  scalloped  paper,  and  rosebud  china,  and  shining 
tinware.  She  took  down  the  little  teapot  and  looked  at 
it  with  streaming  eyes.  It  was  a  symbol.  "He — he 
believes  in  it,"  she  choked;  "he  can  conceive  of  other 
wives  and  babies — and — and — homes  !"  She  put  the 
little  pot  back  on  its  paper  doily  on  the  shelf,  and  went 
about  preparing  supper,  but  the  shrine  was  desecrated, 
it  was  as  a  temple  without  a  god,  a  hearth  without  a 
fire,  a  body  wherein  the  spirit  of  hope  had  gone  and 
the  monster  of  fear  had  entered.    She  knew  what  had 

64 


A   FIRST   WIFE. 

given  that  look  to  the  faces  of  the  older  women  of 
Zion,  she  remembered  what  she  had  promised  and  why 
she  had  fainted  in  the  temple. 

As  soon  as  her  husband  had  started  for  the  meet- 
ing, she  pinned  a  blanket  under  the  baby's  dimpled 
chin,  and  started  across  the  prairie  to  Grandma  But- 
ton's— Grandma  knezu. 

It  was  the  night  of  the  young  people's  ''Mutual,"  and 
she  met  scores  of  them  on  their  way  to  the  meeting- 
house. A  group  of  girls  stopped  her  and  wanted  to 
look  at  the  baby.  She  turned  him  around  and  made 
a  mouthing  coo  so  that  he  would  smile  at  them. 

"Looks  just  like  the  Herricks,"  one  of  them  said. 
^'Wilse's  children  are  going  to  be  like  old  man  Her- 
rick's — every  one  of  his  children  looked  just  like  him. 
Sister  Sarah  used  to  say  that  it  put  her  to  it  to  tell 
her  young  ones  from  Sister  Jane's  and  Sister  Lydy's. 
They  was  all  out-and-out  Herricks." 

Ruth  put  the  baby  over  her  shoulder.  ''He  favors 
me,"  she  said  shortly. 

"Well,  you  won't  have  no  trouble  to  pick  him  out 
from  the  rest,  then,"  the  girl  laughed,  and  Ruth  won- 
dered that  she  never  knew  before  how  intensely  she 
hated  her. 

It  was  a  warm,  sultry  evening,  and  the  clouds  over 
the  lake  foreboded  rain.  The  air  was  sweet  with  the 
odor  of  growing  things,  and  the  damp,  earthy  smell 
of  the  ground,  not  long  released  from  its  last  covering 
of  snow.  Birds  twittered  in  the  box-elder  trees  over 
her  head,  she  looked  up  in  the  branches  and  whispered 
huskily:  "They  only  choose  one  mate,  and  raise  one 
brood,  and  build  one  nest." 

Grandma  came  out  to  the  gate,  screening  her  eyes 

65 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

from  the  last  rays  of  the  setting   sun.     "Baby  sick, 
Ruth?"  she  called.     "He  cries  like  he  mout  be." 

Ruth  looked  at  the  baby  with  dazed  eyes.  "I  didn't 
know  he  was  crying,"  she  said.  "He  must  be  hungry ; 
I — I  forgot  to  feed  him." 

The  old  lady  took  him,  and  gave  him  a  professional 
poke  here  and  there.  "  'Tain't  him,"  she  said,  "it's 
you  ;  what's  happened  ?" 

Ruth  moistened  her  dry  lips.  "Wilse  believes  in 
polygamy,"  she  whispered,  as  though  all  was  said. 

"  'Course  he  does,"  Grandma  said  succinctly,  "ain't 
he  a  dirty  man?" 

"Oh,  Grandma,"  the  girl  protested,  "Wilse  is  awful 
good." 

"Well,  maybe  so,"  the  old  lady  agreed,  without  con- 
viction.    "Has  he  took  another  wife?" 

"No — but  oh.  Grandma,  I  am  so  afraid  he  will," 
Ruth  sobbed. 

The  old  lady  made  a  clucking  little  sound,  a  mixture 
of  relief  and  disgust. 

"Time  enough  to  cry  when  he  does,"  she  said. 
"Here,  sit  you  down  and  nurse  the  baby,  pore  little 
dear;  he  has  et  half  this  cracker  a'ready,  he  is  so 
starved.  I'll  make  you  some  tea,  and  then  you  and  me 
will  talk." 

The  girl  took  the  baby,  and  the  very  act  of  minister- 
ing to  his  need  calmed  her. 

"You  have  always  lived  in  polygamy?"  she  asked 
needlessly,  for  every  one  knew  that  Grandma  was  one 
of  a  half-dozen  wives. 

"Mout's  well  say  hell,"  she  snapped,  "but  if  polyg- 
amy is  a  politer  word  fer  it — I  hev." 

"Do  you  think  God  commanded  it?" 
66 


A   FIRST   WIFE. 

''Command   fiddlesticks,"   she  said   irreverently. 

''But  the  men  in  the  old  testament "  Ruth  fal- 
tered over  the  words,  ''they  had  lots  of  wives,  and " 

''Drunk  blood  out'n  each  other's  skulls,  an'  et  their 
extra  children  ;  but  that  ain't  so  sayin'  as  we  should— ss 
—I  kin  see,"  the  old  lady  said  testily.  "Solomon  had  a 
right  smart  number,  I  disremember  how  many,  but  I 
know  Brigham  Young  died  before  he  near  caught 
up/' 

||Are  you  a  doubter?"  Ruth  asked  wonderingly. 

"Not  of  the  goodness  of  God,  honey,  but  of  some 
of  His  servants.     I  think  some  of  them  git  the  name 
^f  their  employer  mixed.    Wa'n't  no  way  out  when  I 
Vas  young,  but  for  you " 

"There  has  got  to  be  a  way,"  Ruth  interrupted 
eagerly.  "I  can't  let  Wilse  marry  again.  I  don't  be- 
lieve God  ever  meant  that  he  should.  I'd  hate  Him  if 
I  did.  Why,  He  made  us,  too.  All  creation  ain't  for 
men's  choosing.  We  have  rights,  too.  But  I  can't 
make  Wilse  see.  And— and,  I  am  so  afraid  that  he 
is  going  to  have  a  revelation  about  one  of  those  Aus- 
tralian girls." 

^  "What  makes  you  think  so  ?"  Grandma  asked,  rin- 
sing out  her  teapot  preparatory  to  making  a  fresh 
cup. 

"I  don't  just  know.  It  kind  of  came  to  me ;  hints  I 
have  heard  and  let  pass,  and  to-day  in  mothers'  meet- 
ing, it  came  over  me  in  a  flash,  and  when  Wilse  came 
home  I  couldn't  get  any  satisfaction  out  of  him— 
he  just  threw  up  God's  will  to  me." 

Both  were  silent.  Into  Grandma's  withered  brown 
cheeks  crept  a  dim  flush  ;  she  twisted  her  lean  old  hands 
in  her   lap,  and  set  her  toothless  gums   in   a  hard, 

67 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

straight  line.  The  hands  on  the  dial  of  her  life  turned 
back  until  they  reached  its  morning.  She  had  been  a 
first  wife — and  she  knew. 

"Waal,"  she  said  finally,  "if  it's  God's  will  (which  it 
ain't)  fer  men  to  live  with  as  many  fool  women  as  they 
kin  git,  then  it  must  be  His  will  fer  women  to  do  the 
same ;  we  come  from  the  same  source — so  'at  the  same 
law  must  work." 

''Oh,  Grandma!"  Into  the  girl's  eyes  crept  a  look 
of  shrinking  horror. 

"I  reckon  Wilse  would  sing  a  dififerent  tune  if  he 
thought  you  was  playin'  the  same  game." 

''Grandma !" 

"You  hush,"  the  old  lady  lisped,  sternly.  "Do  you 
want  Wilse  should  marry  again?" 

"No!    Oh,  no!" 

"Well,  then  leave  it  to  me.  You  go  out  to  Sister 
Sidory's  ranch  first  thing  in  the  mornin'.  Don't  tell 
Wilse  where  you  are  goin',  but  if  he  finds  out  where 
you  be,  and  phones  out,  say  that  you  are  hevin'  a  fine 
time,  'cause  that  handsome  young  feller  you  went  out 
with  when  he  was  away  on  his  mission,  is  stayin'  out 
there,  an' " 

"Oh,  I  can't!" 

"Let  him  go  ahead,  then." 

"No — no !"  the  cry  was  anguished. 

"Then  listen.  You  be  sound  asleep  when  he  comes 
to-night,  an'  soon  as  he  leaves  in  the  mornin'  take  all 
your  best  things  an'  go  out  to  your  Aunt  Sidory's. 
Keep  fixed  up  an'  smiling  every  minit,  an'  if  he  comes, 
or  phones,  be  as  bright  as  a  cricket  an'  say  as  how  you 
air  willin'  as  he  should  take  another  wife " 

"Grandma!" 

68 


A    FIRST    WIFE. 

"Because  you  are  in  the  notion  of  livin'  with  an- 
other man " 

"There  ain't  any  other  man.  I  never  loved  any  one 
but  Wilse." 

"Humph!  I  d'know  as  a  man  is  so  much  that  a 
woman  cain't  make  one  up  fer  a  special  occasion." 

"But  maybe  Wilse  won't  come,"  Ruth  said,  although 
a  daring  light  was  beginning  to  shine  in  her  usually 
mild  brown  eyes. 

"He'll  come,"  Grandma  affirmed,  "I  ain't  lived  nigh 
on  to  eighty  years  'out  knowin'  his  sect." 

*  *  *  >k  *  *  * 

Wilson  apprehended  a  scene  when  he  reached  home, 
and  was  relieved  to  find  his  wife  sleeping  peacefully. 
She  seemed  quite  as  usual  the  next  morning,  too.  If 
her  cheeks  were  unusually  pink  and  her  eyes  brighter 
than  their  wont,  he  did  not  notice  it ;  he  only  thought, 
as  he  kissed  her  good-by,  how  pretty  she  was.  He 
was  sorry  that  she  had  felt  so  bad  the  night  before; 
he  decided  to  take  her  some  candy  or  a  bunch  of  flow- 
ers at  noon. 

He  thought  of  her  often  during  the  forenoon,  and 
hurried  somewhat  on  his  way  home  to  dinner.  It  was 
Friday,  the  day  Ruth  always  baked  bread.  He  smiled 
as  he  anticipated  how  she  would  have  all  of  the  fat 
brown  loaves  spread  out  for  him  to  admire.  He  ex- 
pected to  see  the  baby  on  the  porch,  in  his  carriage,  it 
was  so  warm ;  but  no — he  must  be  asleep  in  the  house. 
He  opened  the  door  softly  and  stepped  from  the  little 
front  room  into  the  bedroom,  and,  seeing  no  one  there, 
hid  foolishly  behind  the  kitchen  door,  to  jump  out  and 
surprise  them — they  must  be  in  the  kitchen.  But  there 
was  no  sound ;  he  peered  out,  cautiously,  but  saw  noth- 

69 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

ing  save  the  empty  room,  aggressively  silent.  Ruth's 
blue  apron  hung  on  a  peg  near  the  cupboard  door,  and 
her  sunbonnet  was  on  its  accustomed  nail  under  the 
clock  shelf — she  couldn't  be  in  the  garden.  He  called 
to  her,  but  his  voice  seemed  to  awaken  echoes  all  over 
the  house,  as  though  it  were  calling  with  him,  or 
mocking — ''Ruth,  Ruth."  Then  the  silence,  falling 
again,  hurt  him  like  a  blow.  He  went  into  the  bedroom 
and  began  mechanically  opening  the  drawers.  He  no- 
ticed that  her  hat  was  gone;  the  hat  she  had  worn 
when  they  were  first  married.  She  wouldn't  get  a  new 
one  this  spring,  she  said  she  wanted  to  put  the  money 
in  the  carriage  for  the  baby ;  he  remembered  her  smile 
as  she  said  that  every  one  would  be  so  busy  admiring 
the  baby  that  they  wouldn't  notice  her  hat.  He  shut 
the  drawer  and  went  out  in  the  kitchen  again.  He 
walked  around  the  room,  looking  ai  each  familiar  ob- 
ject: this  was  where  she  always  sat  to  tend  the  baby; 
there  were  the  marks  his  carriage  made  on  the  floor; 
there  hung  the  dish-towels,  the  one  for  the  white  and 
the  one  for  the  colored  dishes,  as  Ruth  called  the  pots 
and  pans.  Over  the  paper  woodbox  hung  a  tiny  gar- 
ment of  the  baby's,  and  on  the  floor  lay  a  little  rubber 
toy.  He  picked  it  up,  and  it  squeaked  horribly.  He 
started  and  called  again ;  then,  his  voice  awaking  only 
the  echoes,  he  buried  his  face  in  the  folds  of  the  blue 
apron.    Wilson  had  his  revelation. 

He  put  on  his  hat  and  hurried  over  to  Grandma's. 
She  might  be  there.  She  wasn't,  but  Grandma  knew 
where  she  might  be.  Grandma  knev/  so  much.  She 
told  him  about  that  lovely  young  man,  who,  she 
guessed,  was  out  to  Aunt  Sidory's  now,  picture-making 
or  some  such  fancy  work.    She  knew  that  he  was  awful 

70 


A    FIRST    WIFE. 

taken  with  Ruth— wanted  to  make  picters  after  her, 
as  she  recollected;  Ruth  might  have  made  a  mistake 
throwing  him  over ;  but  then,  she  didn't  know.  Men 
seemed  to  have  authority  from  Almighty  to  take 
more'n  one  wife,  seemed  about  time  that  women  was 
getting  a  revelation  that  it  was  all  right  to  live  with 
more  than  one  man.  Sort  of  seemed  strange  for  a 
woman  to  be  contented  with  a  dozenth  part  of  a  man 
when  the  man— but  Wilson  had  gone. 

******* 

He  got  to  Aunt  Sidory's  at  dusk.  He  had  almost 
run  over  the  dry,  cacti-covered  prairie  to  the  ranch. 
He  had  but  one  thought,  to  see  Ruth  and  the  baby. 
Grandma  was  right.  He  hurried  as  he  thought  of  the 
picture  man.  He  saw  Ruth  on  the  porch ;  she  looked 
cool  and  pretty ;  she  had  on  a  light  dress,  and  something 
red— a  flower— in  her  light  hair.  She  saw  him  and 
smiled,  and  he  caught  her  in  his  arms. 

Ah !  Grandma  knew !  For  he  promised  all  that  she 
had  a  right  to  ask,  and  for  Ruth  "the  desert  blossomed 
as  the  rose." 


71 


VII. 
THE  HOUSE  OF  BONDAGE. 

It  stood  far  up  in  the  deep,  shadowy  canon  of  the 
Wasatch  Mountains.  It  was  built  of  logs,  rough-hewn 
and  massive.  Its  furniture  was  of  the  crudest,  but 
there  was  here  and  there  a  pathetic  touch  of  attempted 
decoration,  which  showed  that  a  woman  had  dwelt 
therein.  On  the  ledge  of  the  one  barred  window 
stood  a  cracked  cup  holding  a  bunch  of  white,  ethereal- 
looking  flowers  that  grew  up  close  to  the  snow-line. 
It  was  very  silent.  The  woman  who  stood,  straining 
against  the  barred  doorway,  felt  an  oppression  as  if  the 
two  sides  of  the  caiion  were  closing  up,  shutting  out 
the  light  and  air. 

Presently  she  cried  out,  half  in  relief  from  the  awful 
loneliness,  and  half  in  instinctive  terror  of  what  the 
approaching  footsteps  might  foretell. 

A  man,  dressed  in  the  picturesque  garb  of  the  fron- 
tiersman of  forty  years  ago,  advanced  slowly  along  the 
faintly  marked  trail,  and  stopped  with  an  amazed 
whistle  when  he  saw  the  woman  standing  in  the  door- 
way of  the  cabin. 

"What — who  on  earth !"  he  exclaimed. 

"A  woman  in  hell !"  The  voice  of  the  woman,  de- 
spite the  rough  tragedy  of  her  words,  had  in  it  a  cer- 
tain appealing  sweetness.  The  man  drew  near  and 
asked  in  a  low  voice:  **What  they  got  you  shut  up 
for?" 

72 


THE  HOUSE  OF  BONDAGE, 

"Because  I  kept  running  away.  Yesterday  I  got 
out  and  climbed  clear  up  there,"  pointing  back  over 
her  shoulder  to  the  white-crowned  peak.  ''I  thought 
I  could  get  down  on  the  other  side,  but  they  caught 
me,  and  then  they  put  these  on."  She  touched  the 
heavy  limbs  that  were  nailed  barwise  across  the  door. 

"What  you  done — gone  off  here?"  he  tapped  his 
forehead. 

''No;  I  am  what  you  men  call  a  stubborn  female.  I 
have  been  trying  to  run  away  from  Zion  ever  since 
I  found  that  the  man  I  married  had  three  other  wives, 
and  that  we  was  all  nothing  but  the  same  as  nigger 
wenches — to  slave  for  nothing.  I  got  pretty  near  away 
twice,  and  I  guess  they  thought  I'd  get  help  from  the 
Gentiles,  because  the  last  time  they  brought  me  here. 
I  suppose  you  are  one  of  the  dogs  they  have  sent  to 
see  if  I'm  safe?" 

"Me !  Do  I  look  like  one  of  them  oily,  sanctimoni- 
ous, long-whiskered  religious  fakirs  ?  Think  I  hang  my 
hopes  of  glory  on  to  their  darned  old  gas  balloon  of 
Mormonism — do  I  look  it?" 

******* 

His  indignation  seemed  so  genuine  and  his  eyes  so 
honest,  that,  much  as  the  woman  had  reason  to  suspect 
treachery,  she  believed  him. 

"But  how,"  she  asked,  "do  you  come  to  be  here?" 
"Happen-stance,  pure  and  simple.  I  drive  the  stage. 
The  present  road  over  the  mountain  is  as  steep  and 
slippery  as  the  road  out  of  the  warm  pond  the  Saints 
tell  us  about.  My  pard  is  holdin'  on  to  the  seat,  tryin' 
to  keep  the  bosses  from  sittin'  back  in  his  lap  to-day, 
while  I'm  prospectin'  these  here  canons  to  see  if  there 
is  a  way  through.    Understand  ?" 

73 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

"Yes.    Are  you  really  a  Gentile?" 

"Sure  pop.  I'm  one  of  them  men  that  the  'Doctrine 
and  Cov'n't'  mentions."  He  laughed  a  loud  guffaw 
that  reechoed  down  the  canon.  ''Do  you  mind  the  reve- 
lation young  Joe  got  from  Almighty?  It  goes  like 
this :  '-''  *  *  an'  the  trump  of  God  shall  blow 
loud  and  long  and  shall  say  to  the  sleeping  nations : 
ye  saints  arise  an'  live ;  ye  sinners  stay  an'  sleep  until 
I  come  again.'  (i8  verse,  43  section  Doctrine  and 
Covenant.)  If  they  was  all  as  gol-blamed  sleepy-head- 
ed as  I  be,  bet  half  of  'em  rather  stretch  and  turn  over 
an'  go  back  to  sleep.  I  swan,  I'd  choose  the  sinner's 
half  of  the  agreement." 

"How  do  you  know  the  Covenant  if  you  are  a  Gen- 
tile?" the  woman  asked,  with  reawakened  suspicion. 

"For  my  own  edification.  Besides,  it's  healthier  for 
me  to  pretend  to  the  bloomin'  saints  that  I'm  open 
to  conviction.  When  your  biz  takes  you  in  the  prophet's 
dooryard  like  mine  does,  it's  policy  to  act  like  you  may 
go  into  the  fold,  see?" 

"You  wouldn't "     The   woman's   eyes  were   so 

wistful  that  the  man  was  stung  with  sudden  tears,  and 
he  looked  studiously  at  the  copper  toe  of  his  heavy 
riding-boot  as  she  continued :  "Help  a  woman  to  es- 
cape?" 

"Would  if  I  dast,"  he  said,  after  an  embarrassed 
silence.  "I  ain't  posin'  for  a  coward.  I'll  fight  Injuns 
with  the  next  one,  an'  I  reckon  I  know  by  the  feel 
which  end  of  a  gun  to  take  holt  of;  but  your  saints 
ain't  no  little  thing  for  a  man  to  buck  up  agin' — I'd 
rather  face  a  bloomin'  torpedo-boat  than  one  of  them 
Christian  outfits  if  they're  wrathful.  Do  you  know 
what  they  did  to  one  man  with  a  Sir  Walter  Raleigh 

74 


THE  HOUSE  OF  BONDAGE. 

disposition,  who  was  assistin'  one  of  their  discontented 
females  to  escape?  Hear  about  him?  No;  well, 
they  staked  him  down  out  on  the  desert— sun  gets 
sorter  warmish  out  there,  you  know.  Well,  they 
put  food  an'  water  where  he  could  see  'em,  but 
just  out  of  his  reach,  an'  left  him.  He  was 
found  before  the  buzzards  (you  mind  your  little 
buzzard  story  in  the  marriage  endowment  cere- 
mony) got  holt  of  him,  but,  pshaw !  he  was  so  locoed 
that  he  wa'n't  fit  for  nothin'  but  the  monkey-house. 

And  the  woman " 

"What  did  they  do  to  the  woman?"  Her  face  was 
so  white  as  she  whispered  the  question  that  he  said 
hastily :  "Oh,  nothin',  I  reckon,  but  make  her  promise 
to  mind.  I  have  heerd  back  East  about  people  wantin' 
the  whole  hog ;  trouble  with  you  Mormon  women  seems 
to  be  that  you  want  the  whole  man.  Why  ain't  you 
satisfied  with  your  share?" 

The  woman  looked  at  him,  and  he  felt  the  red  blood 
rise  in*  his  rough-tanned  cheeks  at  her  look.     "Ain't 
that,  I  know,"  he  amended  hastily.    "Darned  if  I  could, 
I'd  help  you.    Got  anything  to  eat  ?" 
"Stale  bread  and  water." 

"Huh !  They  could  show  the  devil  hisself  some  new 
stunts  in  the  disciplin'  line."  He  half-turned  away, 
and  the  woman  held  out  her  hands  in  terror. 

"Oh!  stay— don't— don't  leave  me,"  she  Implored. 
"Just  what  you  have  said,  just  hearing  your  voice,  has 
helped  me— here,"  she  touched  her  forehead.  "You 
know,  I  thought  I  was  going  mad." 

"Small  wonder  if  you  did,"  the  man  muttered.  He 
turned  back  with  reluctance,  for,  as  he  said,  he  well 

75 


THE  REVELATION  IN  THE  MOUNTAIN. 

knew  the  issue  of  any  misdirected  gallantry  in  a  case 
like  the  present. 

She  read  his  thought.    *'I  know  you  are  afraid,  and 

I  don't  blame  you,  but "  the  anguish  in  her  tone 

touched  him. 

'Til  knock  off  some  of  the  trimmin's  on  your  door, 
so  as  you  can  get  out,"  he  offered. 

She  shook  her  head,  and  said,  in  shamed  confusion : 
"I — I   can't — it   wouldn't   help   me,   because — because 

"  she  sobbed,  "they  took  away  my  clothes.    This 

is  just  a  bedquilt  I  wrapped  around  me." 

'The  devils!"  the  man  muttered.  He  chewed  the 
ends  of  his  long  mustache.  ''When  are  they  comin' 
back?"  he  asked. 

"I  don't  know.  Soon,  I  suppose;  they  will  watch 
me  pretty  close  since  I  got  away  yesterday." 

The  man  considered.  "I  can  think  better  on  a  full 
stomach,"  he  said.  'T'll  fix  my  snack."  He  moved  a 
few  steps  away. 

"Don't  go !"  the  woman  shrieked. 

"I  won't.  I'm  goin'  to  find  twigs  enough  to  het  up 
some  coffee.  You  an'  me  will  drink  it,  an'  then  we'll 
light  on  some  plan  for  your  getaway." 

A  light  came  into  the  woman's  face,  and  her  strained 
expression  settled  into  softer  lines.  He  noticed  for  the 
first  time  that  she  was  pretty. 

"Pore  little  heifer,"  he  said  softly.  He  knelt  down 
where  she  could  see  him,  and,  holding  his  broad  hat 
before  the  little  heap  of  twigs,  lighted  them. 

"I'll  give  you  the  water,"  the  woman  called.  She 
was  afraid  to  trust  him  out  of  her  sight  while  he  went 
to  a  near-by  creek.  He  heard  the  soft  patter  of  her 
bare  feet  on  the  floor ;  she  came  back  to  the  door  with 

76 


THE  HOUSE  OF  BONDAGE, 

a  small  pail  of  water,  which  she  poured  with  some 
difficulty  through  the  cracks  between  the  bars,  into  the 
can  he  held  up.  She  talked  to  him  while  he  waited 
for  the  water  to  boil. 

"I  get  so  awful  scared  and  lonesome  I  about  give  up 
to  go  back,"  she  said,  ''but  when  I  see  them  I  hate  them 
so  that  I  know  I'd  stand  the  fire  of  the  stake  sooner 
than  go  back  and  live  with  him.  All  his  wives  hate 
him;  he  is  so  mean.  Mary  died  last  week;  she  took 
poison.  We  knew.  Maybe  we'd  all  'a'  took  some,  too, 
if  there  had  been  any  left.  But  her  death  was  horrible 
—horrible!"  She  covered  her  eyes  with  her  hands; 
then,  remembering  the  lack  of  convention  in  her  cos- 
tume, took  them  down,  and,  blushing  deeply,  wrapped 
the  quilt  more  closely  around  her. 


The  man  handed  her  a  tin  cup  of  strong  coffee,  and 
a  great  slice  of  bread  and  meat,  and  sat  down  near 
the  door  to  eat  his  ovv^n  ''snack." 

With  the  warmth  of  the  coffee,  and  the  stimulus  of 
the  food,  which,  despite  her  famished  condition,  she  ate 
with  a  certain  daintiness,  her  spirits  rose,  as  did  the 
man's  courage.  Twice  during  their  strange  repast  she 
laughed  at  some  of  his  quaint  tricks  of  expression. 

"I  wish  that  quilt  wasn't  so  gol-blamed  decollatay," 
he  said,  "so  you  could  skin  out  with  me  now.  But  as 
it  won't  answer  for  a  real  bang-up  travelin'  costume, 
I'll  have  to  light  out  now  an'  scare  up  some  female 
apparel." 

Her  eyes  widened  again  with  terror. 

"Don't  you  go  to  gettin'  scairt,"  he  said  reassur- 
ingly.   "I'll  get  you  out  of  this  weasel  trap  to-night." 

77 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

"Oh,  do,  do!"  the  woman  begged.  ''Listen,"  she 
lowered  her  voice  to  a  whisper.  ''He — he  said  that 
here,  in  this  room,"  looking  shudderingly  over  her 
shoulder  toward  a  dim  corner,  piled  full  of  rubbish, 
"over  there  is  the  skeleton  of  a  woman  who  ran  away, 
and  he  said  they  kept  her  here  to  warn — warn  women 
like  me."    The  man  peered  through  the  bar. 

"It's  a  dirty  lie,"  he  said,  the  while  his  face  whitened 
at — was  it  ?  It  might  have  been  a  trick  of  the  shadows, 
but  it  looked  like  something  that  might  once  have  been 
a  woman's  hand. 

"I'll  get  you  out  of  this  hell-trap,"  he  promised.  He 
took  her  trembling  little  hands  and  pressed  them  kind- 
ly, then  strode  off  down  the  caiion. 

Left  alone,  the  woman  pressed  close  against  the  bars 
in  the  doorway.  She  believed  the  man  would  come 
back,  yet — if  he  should  not,  if  even  then  some  of  her 
enemies  were  coming  and  should  see  him,  and  suspect 
his  purpose.  She  was  sure  afraid.  For  the  first  time 
since  her  incarceration,  she  glanced  over  in  the  dark- 
ened corner.  It  seemed  to  her  that  she  saw  what  the 
man  had  thought  he  had  seen. 

"Oh,  in  Christ's  name !"  she  gasped,  "can  such  things 
be?  Yet  they  are  done  in  His  name  and  under  the 
cloak  of  religion.  Religion !  Oh,  the  sin  and  the 
shame  of  it!"  She  sank  to  her  knees  and  lifted  her 
voice  in  prayer.  The  words  echoed  up  the  walls  of  the 
canon,  and  perchance,  who  can  tell  ?  may  have  reached 
even  above  the  white  tops  of  the  mountains,  on  through 
the  blue  into  the  light  beyond. 

"God,"  she  prayed,  "if  Thou  wilt  help  me  to  escape, 
if  Thou  wilt  let  me  out  of  this,"  she  shook  the  bars  of 
her  prison,  "and  let  me  reach  safety  in  a  Christian  land, 

78 


THE  HOUSE  OF  BONDAGE. 

I  will  never,  never  rest  from  doing  all  I  can  to  bring 
justice  to  the  outraged  women  of  this  wicked,  wicked 
system.     Amen !" 
She  kept  her  word. 


She  watched  the  afternoon  shadows  lengthen,  lis- 
tened to  the  twilight  calls  of  the  birds,  strained  her 
eyes  for  a  sight  and  her  ears  for  a  sound  of  some  one 
approaching.  Hope  and  fear  struggled  together  as 
darkness  stole  down  the  canon. 

At  last,  when  it  seemed  she  could  no  longer  endure 
the  waiting,  she  heard  hurried  footsteps,  and  the  man 
who  was  her  promised  rescuer  came  running  up  to 
the  door. 

'They  are  after  me,"  he  panted,  "the "    A  few 

forceful  blows  broke  down  a  couple  of  the  bars.  "Don't 
wait  for  anything.  I've  got  some  fixin's  for  you  in 
the  stage.  My  pard  is  waitin'  with  it  down  the  canon. 
Oh,  damn !"  he  exclaimed,  "you  are  barefoot.  But  you 
can't  stop — I  hear  them  now  !  Skin !  Run  on  ahead  I 
Straight  down  the  caiion." 

The  woman  needed  no  second  bidding.  She  ran  like 
a  startled  deer.  The  man  followed,  his  spurs  clattering 
as  he  ran.    He  had  his  revolver  cocked  in  his  hand. 

The  saints,  several  of  them,  were  racing  after  them 
down  the  hillside.  Some  of  the  language  they  called 
after  them  did  not  sound  as  though  it  had  been  selected 
for,  and  recommended  to,  them  in  a  revelation.  They 
ordered  them  to  stop  in  the  name  of  all  Authority,  and 
under  penalty  of  some  of  the  most  blood-curdling 
threats.  As  soon  as  they  were  close  enough  they  be- 
gan to  fire.    A  bullet  tore  its  way  through  a  corner  of 

79 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

the  quilt,  which  was  flapping  around  the  woman  as  she 
ran.  One  stung  like  a  hornet  in  the  man's  shoulder, 
but  he  didn't  pause,  not  even  to  discharge  his  own 
weapon,  until,  panting  and  breathless,  they  reached  the 
stage.  He  hid  the  woman  in  the  ''boot,"  sprang  to  the 
seat,  and  whipped  up  the  horses.  This  moment's  pause 
gave  their  pursuers  time  to  come  almost  abreast  of  the 
stage.  The  man  turned  in  his  seat  and  emptied  his 
revolver  at  the  group.  He  got  a  number  of  bullets 
through  his  hat,  which  he  now  keeps  carefully  put  away 
in  an  old  leather  baggage  boot  that  had  once  carried 
precious  freight  across  the  desert. 

Sometimes  he  will  take  it  out  and  tell  its  story.  He 
will  explain  that  the  stiffness  in  his  shoulder  is  not  due 
to  rheumatism,  and  he  will  finish  his  story,  after  he 
has  lit  his  pipe  and  leaned  back  in  his  wide,  easy  chair, 
by  saying:  *Tt  was  a  close  shave,  but,"  as  he  peers 
out  into  the  kitchen,  where  a  white-haired  old  lady 
moves  cheerfully  about,  *T'll  be  gol-blamed  if  it  wasn't 
worth  it!" 


80 


VIII. 
WHEN  CELIA  RANG  THE  BELL. 

Celia  Lennox  was  a  pretty,  wistful-eyed  girl,  senti- 
mentally religious  by  nature.  When,  as  a  child,  she 
had  watched  the  sun  sinking  in  a  bed  of  purple  and 
gold,  and  caught  the  glory  of  its  reflection  on  the 
mountain  peaks,  she  had  fancied  that  it  foretold  the 
opening  of  the  gates  of  heaven,  and  the  reflection  was 
like  unto  that  which  would  transform  the  faces  of  the 
faithful  who  dared  to  meet  the  King.  Celia  thought 
that  she  longed  for  that  day  more  than  any  other,  and 
would  fairly  burst  her  slender  throat  singing,  *'I  am 
waiting,  only  waiting,  for  the  blessed  day  to  dawn," 
and  thought  that  she  meant  it  until  she  got  acquainted 
with  Ross  Cranford.  After  that  she  knew  that  this 
world  was  good  enough  for  her,  so  long  as  it  held  him. 

It  has  been  said  of  old  that  the  course  of  true  love 
never  yet  ran  smooth,  and  when  that  love  is  between 
a  Gentile  youth  and  a  Mormon  maid  many  and  treach- 
erous are  the  rapids,  and  deep  and  unexpected  the  sink- 
holes. 

This  was  before  the  reign  of  any  law  other  than  the 
church  was  more  than  a  fevered  dream  of  the  night. 
The  religious  zeal  of  Celia  and  her  father  and  mother, 
and  her  five  "aunties"  was  so  well  known,  that  her 
clandestine  intimacy  with  the  young  hound  of  a  Gentile 
had  been  going  on  for  some  time  before  the  sleuth  of 

8i 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

the  ward,  the  bishop,  found  it  out  and  reported  it  to 
her  father,  who,  aside  from  dividing  the  solace  of  his 
presence  among  six  exacting,  hard-working  wives,  was 
the  bishop's  first  counselor. 


The  father  was  astounded,  and  admitted,  when 
brought  up  standing  before  the  very  image  of  his 
guilt,  that  he  had  been  remiss  in  not  disposing  of  his 
daughter  Celia  in  marriage  before.  It  was  quite  true 
that  Celia  was  past  sixteen,  and  might  already  have 
added  at  least  a  branch  to  the  spreading  tree  whose 
shade  was  to  shut  out  the  sun  of  reason  and  of  truth, 
and  whose  poisoned  roots  were  to  sap  the  strength 
from  the  growth  of  religious  freedom  and  take  away 
the  shelter  of  the  country's  law. 

But  Celia  had  been  a  good  girl  at  home;  when  her 
mother  was  not  there  she  had  ministered  to  his  wants. 
She  could  make  delicious  milk  biscuits,  and  get  a  meal 
in  such  short  order  as  to  please  her  father.  Then, 
too,  she  kept  the  younger  children  washed,  and  darned, 
and  polite.  In  fact,  the  family  which  had  Celia  was 
clearly  his  favorite,  and  more  because  of  the  cheerful 
efficiency  of  the  daughter  than  of  any  superior  attrac- 
tions of  the  mother.  Twice  had  he  frowned  on  two 
would-be  suitors  from  the  sheep  of  the  fold,  only  to 
find  that  his  favorite  daughter  was  "going  on"  with  a 
goat.  True,  and  true  it  is,  that  many  of  the  saints 
were  sore  afflicted  by  the  unwelcome  invasion  of  the 
Gentiles  into  their  sanctified  land. 

Something  must  be  done,  and  at  once.  While  his 
counselor  had  been  talking  of  the  virtues  of  his  comely 
daughter,  the  mouth  of  the  bishop  had  been  fairly 

82 


WHEN  CELIA  RANG   THE  BELL. 

watering.  He  had  a  revelation  right  then  and  there 
that  God  desired  him  to  take  another  wife,  and  decided 
that  that  wife  better  be  Ceha. 


Now  in  those  days  a  Mormon  took  another  wife  as 
easily  and  with  as  little  expenditure  of  energy  as  an 
ordinary  man  would  use  in  changing  from  his  winter 
to  his  summer  underwear.  In  the  latter  case,  he  looks 
meditatively  at  the  sky,  reads  the  weather  forecast,  con- 
sults the  calendar,  and  it's  done ;  in  the  former  he  has 
a  revelation  from  Almighty,  selects  the  woman,  and 
marries  her,  willy-nilly.  Before  erasing  our  figures 
from  the  slate,  we  will  use  it  further  to  show  that  while 
it  may  turn  cold  and  frost  this  June,  whereas  it  was 
warm  and  pleasant  last  June,  so  may  this  revelation 
prove  troublous  in  fulfilling^  whereas  the  last  several 
wives  were  led  as  meekly  to  the  temple  as  are  the  lambs 
to  the  slaughter. 

Celia,  devout  and  tractable  as  a  Christian,  efficient 
and  cheerful  as  a  housekeeper,  well-favored  and  per- 
fectly modeled  as  a  woman,  was  still  stubborn  and 
hateful  past  belief  in  view  of  this  revelation  of  the 
bishop's.  While  believing  absolutely  in  the  testimony 
of  the  golden  plates  of  Nephi,  and  doubting  not  that 
the  sainted  Joe  talked  as  intimately,  with  as  little  re- 
serve of  fact  as  you  would  use  in  talking  to  the  tax 
collector,  she  doubted  that  the  bishop's  revelation  had 
come  from  the  Lord.  She  was  almost  blasphemous  in 
her  language.  She  said  that  the  bishop  had  more  wives 
now  than  was  allowed  by  the  Covenant,  and  that  she 
would  die  sooner  than  be  sealed  to  him ;  besides,  she 
said,  he  was  as  old  as  the  hills  and  as  ugly  as  time,  and 

83 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

she  hated  him.  While  she  knew  much  better  than  to 
say  so,  even  as  she  would  storm  at  the  bishop,  her  eyes 
would  soften  and  she  would  cuddle  the  hand  that  had 
lain  in  the  boy's  rough  palm  against  her  soft,  pink 
cheek,  and  say  in  her  heart  that  she  loved  another  even 
as  she  hated  the  bishop,  and  because  her  heart  taught 
her  she  knew  that  no  such  evil  thing  could  come  from 
a  pure  God,  and  she  defied  them  with  as  little  fear  as 
success.    For  she  was  married  to  the  bishop. 


This  is  a  chapter  in  the  life  of  Celia  which  was  hard 
to  live  and  is  hard  to  write  about.  The  night  before 
the  bishop  had  had  his  revelation  she  had  gone  to  bed 
with  the  sweet,  innocent  dreams  of  a  child ;  a  fortnight 
later  she  was  a  woman,  from  whom  the  shield  of  youth 
had  been  ruthlessly  torn  and  whose  ideals  had  been 
broken  and  thrown  at  her  feet.  She  was  like  the  bud 
of  a  flower  whose  protecting  leaves  had  been  forced 
open  by  rude  hands  that  cruel  eyes  might  look  into  its 
guarded  heart.  Oh !  life  was  hard  for  Celia,  as  for 
many  another  fair  girl  whose  spirit  was  broken  on  the 
wheel  of  that  atrocious  dogmatism.  So  white  and  wan 
did  she  look  the  day  after  the  ceremony  in  the  temple 
that  her  father  sought  the  groom  with  a  troubled  brow. 
"Give  her  a  little  leeway,  bishop,"  he  said.  "She  is 
young  and  headstrong.    Be  patient." 

But  the  bishop  shook  his  head.  "I've  tried  both 
ways,"  he  said,  "and  I  find  it  saves  bother  to  show 
your  authority  first  out.  The  sooner  a  woman  learns 
that  her  v/hims  are  useless,  the  sooner  she  quits  having 
them.  Your  girl  is  pouting  over  that  young  Gentile 
whelp,  and  if  she  don't  step  he'll  leave  Zion." 

84 


WHEN  CELIA  RANG   THE  BELL. 

And  with  this  the  father  had  to  acquiesce,  albeit  that 
the  blood  pump  in  his  body,  which  in  another  man 
would  have  been  a  heart,  felt  somewhat  heavy  when 
he  bade  the  girl  good-by. 


To  outward  seeming  Celia  was  soon  subdued,  but 
even  '*as  a  hart  panteth  after  the  water  brooks,"  so  did 
this  child  yearn  for  the  sound  of  the  boy's  eager  voice, 
the  touch  of  his  strong  young  hand,  and  the  glance 
of  his  honest  blue  eyes.  As  for  the  lad,  the  sun  of 
his  life  had  gone  down  when  the  girl  was  married  to 
the  bishop.  He  decided,  as  boys  of  twenty  sometimes 
will,  to  spend  what  remained  of  his  white  young  life 
sacred  to  the  memory  of  the  girl  he  loved.  He  went 
often  to  the  cafion  and  brooded  over  the  places  they 
had  been  together.  One  day,  sitting  with  his  boyish 
head  bowed  on  a  flat  white  rock  that  Celia  had  once 
called  her  center-table,  he  was  roused  by  a  touch  on 
his  shoulder,  slight  and  hesitant,  as  if  a  bird  had  lit 
thereon.  Looking  up  he  saw  Celia.  Near  as  she  was 
to  him  physically,  so  great  a  change  had  the  last  few 
weeks  made  in  her  that  spiritually  she  seemed  farther 
from  him  than  she  had  ever  been  before.  He  looked 
at  her  in  bewilderment ;  then,  noting  the  hollows  in  her 
cheeks,  and  the  dark  rings  under  her  eyes,  a  wave  of 
pity  for  her  surged  over  him,  and  he  held  out  his 
hand  to  her  and  asked:   "Is  he  mean  to  you,  Celie?'' 

"He  says  he  is  good  to  me,''  she  answered,  with  a 
hard  little  laugh.  "He  hasn't  hit  me  yet,  and  he  does 
Bertha." 

"Hit  you?"  the  boy  gasped.  "Oh,  Celie,  I— I  can't 
stand  that.     I  can't.     Listen  to  me.    I  have  got  pa  to 

85 


THE  REVELATION  IN  THE  MOUNTAIN. 

buy  that  piece  of  land  next  the  bishop ;  we  will  move 
out  next  week,  and  then  I'll  keep  watch  of  the  house, 
and  if  he  should  be — be  mean  to  you" — he  stopped  and 
knit  his  brows  in  thought,  then  added  presently — 'I'll 
get  a  bell  and  hide  it  under  your  well-curb  to-night; 
you  get  it  in  the  morning  and  keep  it  by  you ;  you  can 
stuff  something  in  the  clapper  and  carry  it  in  your 
pocket;  then  if  you  need  me,  ring  it,  and  I'll  come. 
Promise." 

The  girl  promised,  but  without  hope.  "You  couldn't 
help  me,"  she  said  tearfully. 

"Yes,  I  could.  Keep  your  promise,  and  I'll  hear 
the  bell." 

The  girl  promised  again,  and  the  next  morning  she 

pressed  a  little  bell  to  her  lips,  but  she  didn't  ring  it, 

although — but  we  said  before  that  some  things  are  hard 

to  write. 

******* 

The  Gentiles  moved  on  to  the  land,  but  were  directly 
served  with  a  notice,  headed  by  the  sixth  and  seventh 
verses  from  the  fourteenth  chapter  of  the  Book  of 
Revelation,  and  written  underneath  a  clumsily  worded 
order  to  vacate  the  property  by  the  command  of  and 
at  the  price  offered  by  the  church,  or  beware  the  wrath 
of  the  "Avenging  Angel."  Now,  the  avenging  angel  is 
so  apt  to  take  on  earthly  form  and  ammunition  in  ar- 
gument that  it  is  much  better,  if  you  get  a  notice  of  this 
sort,  to  yield  at  once,  else  you  see  It  avenged.  So  in 
those  days  it  was  best  to  give  the  "angel"  whatever 
some  avaricious  old  Mormon  wanted,  first  as  last.  But 
these  Gentiles  refused  to  do  this,  and  sent  to  Washing- 
ton for  authority  to  keep  what  they  had  bought.  That 
was  at  the  time  that  scandal  was  beginning  to  come 

86 


WHEN  CELIA  RANG   THE  BELL. 

thick  and  fast  in  Zion,  and  the  saints  withdrew  their 
''claim"  to  the  property,  having  found  that  there  is 
more  than  one  way. 

The  Gentiles  did  not  move,  neither  did  they  prosper. 
The  family  would  have  been  glad  to  have  gone  had 
Ross,  who  was  their  main  support,  allowed  them  to  do 
so.  He  would  not  leave  Utah,  or,  as  years  went  on,  the 
place,  except  in  cases  of  real  necessity.  He  stayed  al- 
ways near  enough  so  that  he  could  hear  the  tinkle  of 
a  bell.  His  parents  died,  and  his  brothers  and  sisters 
married  and  moved  away,  but  he  still  stayed  on.  On 
the  other  side  of  the  high  board  fence  was  a  woman, 
pale  and  sad-eyed,  who  might  one  day  need  him,  and 
he  waited  for  her  summons. 

As  years  passed,  Progress  found  her  way  over  the 
mountains  and  across  the  desert,  and  in  her  wake  came 
a  gleam  of  hope  for  the  women  of  Zion.  Of  course, 
there  were  many  of  those  who  did  not  know  that  she 
had  come — among  these  was  Celia — but  the  bishop 
knew,  and  the  knowledge  that  what  they  had  most 
feared  was  about  to  come  upon  them,  and  the  new  fear 
of  the  law,  made  him  more  hard  and  cruel  to  his  wives 
and  children. 

******* 

It  clearly  behooved  every  daughter  of  Zion  to  put 
forth  every  effort  to  increase  the  Mormon  population, 
and  the  bishop,  after  an  impassioned  speech  in  meeting, 
in  which  he  urged  that  every  mother's  daughter  over 
the  age  of  fourteen  be  given  at  once  into  wedlock,* 
was  reminded  forcibly  that  he  had  a  daughter  of  his 

♦Actual  utterance  by  a  bishop  in  Salt  Lake  Tabernacle 
last  November. 

87 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

own,  by  his  wife  Celia,  who  was  past  that  age  and  still 
single.  Celia's  daughter  looked  much  as  her  mother 
had  done  at  her  age,  and,  much  as  her  father  had  done 
on  the  former  occasion,  another  noble  old  man  offered 
to  take  her  to  wife.  The  bishop  went  with  him  to 
Celia's  home,  and  arbitrarily  ordered  his  daughter  to 
make  ready  to  marry  him.  The  girl,  trembling  with 
fear,  ran  to  her  mother.  "Oh,  mama,"  she  sobbed. 
''Don't  let  them  take  me.     I — I  hate  him." 

Celia  looked  at  the  bishop.  "Are  you  going  to  insist 
on  this  ?"  she  asked  very  quietly.  The  bishop  nodded 
emphatically.  Then,  suddenly,  they  were  startled  by 
the  loud  ringing  of  a  bell,  which  Celia  held  aloft  in 
her  hand.  No  one  knew  where  she  had  gotten  it  or 
why  she  was  ringing  it,  and  before  they  had  time  to 
ask,  or  before  its  last  vibration  had  died  away,  the 
door  burst  open  and  a  man  stood  before  them.  He  had 
lived  next  door  to  them  for  years,  but  the  bishop  did 
not  know  him.  He  was  near-sighted  and  half-fright- 
ened out  of  his  wits,  and  he  thought  that  it  was  the 
law  at  last,  and,  fast  as  his  shaking  old  legs  would  carry 
him  he  ran,  followed  by  the  would-be  bridegroom,  out 
of  the  house,  out  of  the  yard,  on  and  on,  and  was  not 
seen  for  many  a  day.  They  hid — but  if  you  wonder 
where  or  how,  ask  some  one  who  knows  what  is  under- 
neath the  temple  at  Logan. 


88 


IX. 

THE  SINS  OF  THE  FATHER. 

I,  the  Lord,  thy  God,  am  a  jealous  God,  visiting  the 
iniquities  of  the  fathers  upon  the  children  unto  the  third  and 
fourth  generations  of  them  that  hate  Me.— Exod.  v.  20. 

Therefore,  cease  from  all  your  light  speeches;  from  all 
your  laughter;  from  all  your  lustful  desires;  from  all  your 
pride  and  lightmindedness;  from  all  your  wicked  doings.— 
Sec.  28,  verse  121,  Doctrine  and  Covenants. 

But  I  have  commanded  you  to  bring  up  your  children  in 
light  and  truth.— Sec.  93,  verse  40,  Doctrine  and  Covenants. 

Now,  behold,  the  nobleman,  the  lord  of  the  vineyard,  called 
upon  his  servants  and  said  unto  them:  "Why!  what  is  the 
cause  of  this  great  evil?"— Sec.  121,  verse  52,  Doctrine  and 
Covenants. 


Dearly  beloved,  we  are  together  to  talk  of  a  grave 
subject ;  we  are  going  to  talk  about  the  coming  genera- 
tion of  citizens  in  the  State  of  Utah.  We  are  going 
to  consider  the  children  who  go  to  our  schools,  who 
are  on  our  streets,  the  children  whom  we  see  in  our 
public  parks,  the  children  whom  we  hear  in  our  juve- 
nile courts ;  and  we  are  going  to  ask  what  are  the  con- 
ditions of  these  children's  lives,  where  they  were  born, 
and  in  what  environment  have  they  lived  that  they 
should  bring  the  red  blush  of  shame  to  our  faces. 
What  of  these  children? 

A  zealous,  long-whiskered  elder  called  at  our  house 
one  day  with  a  book  called  'The  Defense  of  the  Faith." 

89 


THE  REVELATION  IN  THE  MOUNTAIN. 

We  asked  him  why  the  faith  needed  defending,  and  he 
answered,  ''Because  of  the  prevaiHng  prejudice  against 
polygamy." 

"Does  that  need  defending?"  we  asked.  He  consid- 
ered, and  aimed,  with  the  accuracy  of  long  practise,  at 
the  cuspidor  before  he  replied  :  "Well — er — the  funda- 
mental argument  in  favor  of  polygamy  is  that  it  brings 
purer  children  into  the  world." 

*'And  are  the  children  of  these  plural  wives  more 
pure?"  we  asked,  in  a  tell-me-more-about-God-Uncle- 
Tom  voice. 

To  the  credit  of  humanity  and  the  book  agent,  the 
elder  shifted  his  ground,  and,  instead  of  replying, 
brought  forth  another  argument.  "Well,  you  see,"  he 
began,  *'in  the  early  days  when  we  were  led  by  the 
Spirit  across  the  desert,  and  after  many  hardships  and 
dangers  reached  the  garden,  we  were  threatened  with 
massacre  by  the  Indians." 

"Wasn't  there  a  massacre  at  Mountain  Meadows?" 
we  asked,  still  in  our  little-Eva  voice.  But  again  the 
good  man  disregarded  the  rising  inflection  in  our  tone, 
and  continued:  "As  I  was  saying,  there  were  so 
many  Indians  and  so  few  saints  that  it  was  so — er — 
difficult  to  induce  immigrants  to  come  here " 

"Was  the — er — experience  at  Mountain  Meadows 
calculated  to  induce  them  to  undertake  the  perils  of  the 
trip  for  a  like  reception?"  we  asked,  as  one  seeking 
light. 

"It  was  so  hard  to  get  people  enough  together  for 
self-defense,"  the  elder  went  on,  and  we  discovered 
that  he  was  quite  deaf  in  his  Mountain  Meadows  ear. 
"It  was  necessary  for  us  to  propagate  ourselves  for 
our  own  protection  against  the  Indians." 

90 


^. 


THE  SINS  OF  THE  FATHER. 

"You  mean,"  we  asked,  ''that  you  brought  the  chil- 
dren into  the  world  to  protect  you  from  the  Indians  ?" 

'That  was  one  reason,"  he  answered. 

We  figured  mentally.  It  takes  three-fourths  of  a 
year  before  a  child  is  ready  to  claim  its  soul.  We 
usually  allow  it  a  year  in  which  to  cut  its  front  teeth 
and  take  its  first  wabbly,  little  steps ;  sometimes  we 
have  to  allow  even  a  month  or  two  more  to  do  this. 
Then  it  takes  a  little  more  time  for  it  to  clothe  its 
thoughts  with  speech,  and  even  after  we  substitute  a 
string  of  spools  for  the  rattlebox  it  takes  some  time 
for  the  muscles  to  harden  sufficiently  for  a  real  effective 
use  of  the  hatchet.  It  even  takes  some  muscle  to  cock 
a  gun.  So  figure  as  we  would  we  could  see  that  even 
with  the  most  forward  it  would  not  be  possible  for 
the  children  to  protect  their  parents  under  several 
years.  Then  suppose  they  should  all  have  the  measles 
at  once !    It  certainly  looked  bad  for  the  saints. 

"But,"  we  voiced  our  deductions,  "weren't  you  afraid 
that  the  Indians  would  get  tired  resting  on  their  toma- 
hawks and  come  in  and  whet  them  on  some  of  the 
elders  before  the  children  would  be  old  enough  to  de- 
fend them?" 

But  even  here  the  elder  did  not  quite  clear  up  the 
cloud  of  our  ignorance  by  the  sun  of  his  wisdom.  He 
only  said  that  we  could  only  trust  in  God  and  intimated 
that  there  was  still  a  warmer  place  than  Utah  for  those 
who  had  flaunted  at  religion.  We  felt  bad  because  we 
had  not  flaunted ;  we  had  only  inquired.  Maybe  it  is 
logical  to  propagate  for  your  own  protection,  but  what 
of  the  children  ? 

*****  S|t  5> 

91 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

We  are  going  to  tell  you  a  little  story.  ,  Perhaps  we 
didn't  "make  it  up" ;  we  don't  believe  it  is  original,  we 
think  it  was  told  us  long,  long  ago;  it  may  be  you 
have  heard  it  or  dreamed  it  some  day  when  you  have 
perchance  been  alone  in  the  foothills  or  by  the  river 
or  in  the  forest  where  you  have  heard  the  song  of 
some  golden-throated  bird  singing  to  his  mate. 
Maybe  you  remembered  it  some  morning  when  you 
lifted  up  your  eyes  to  the  hills  or  above  them  to  where 
the  heavens  declare  the  glory  of  God.  Maybe  it  came 
to  you  in  a  strain  of  music,  but  we  believe  that  you 
have  heard  it  or  dreamed  it,  the  story  of  a  man  and 
a  woman ;  the  story  of  the  foundation  of  a  home ;  the 
story  of  little  children  being  born  with  a  heritage  of 
honor,  being  taught  the  principle  of  right  living,  the 
sacredness  of  truth,  and  the  sanctity  of  moral  law.  In 
that  story  we  have  heard  or  dreamed  of  mutual  honor 
and  respect.  We  know  of  a  book  that  teaches  children 
to  honor  their  father  and  mother ;  we  know  of  a  book 
that  tells  parents  to  provoke  not  their  children  to  wrath. 
And  we  are  going  to  inquire  how  we  can  follow  these 
two  teachings  either  if  we  are  polygamous  parents  or 
children,  or  if  we  can  follow  them  and  believe  in  that 
little  story. 

Suppose  your  father  was  the  father  of  the  children 
of  five  other  wives,  would  you  honor  him?  Suppose 
your  mother  was  the  mistress  of  five  other  men,  would 
you  honor  her  ?  Suppose  your  father  had,  say,  twenty, 
or  thirty,  or  forty  other  children  to  claim  the  protection 
of  his  parenthood,  wouldn't  it  provoke  you  to  wrath? 
What  of  these  children?  Do  you  think  it  makes  purer 
children  to  defy  the  very  first  principles  of  right  liv- 
ing?   Does  it  make  a  child  purer  to  send  him  out  on 

92 


THE  SINS  OF  THE  FATHER. 

the  streets  to  sell  papers  as  soon  as  he  can  fairly  walk, 
because  his  father  has  so  many  wives  and  the  wives 
have  so  many  children  that  there  is  not  bread  for  him 
to  eat  unless  he  helps  earn  it  ?  Does  it  make  him  purer 
to  be  taught  that  he  must  not  tell  the  truth  about  some 
things,  and,  in  case  he  is  asked,  he  must  lie  about  his 
parents?  Does  that  make  him  pure?  Does  it  make 
him  pure  to  go  to  meeting  and  hear  one  thing  taught, 
and  go  home  and  see  another  thing  practised?  Does 
it  make  him  pure  to  hear  the  jealousies,  the  back-bi- 
tings,  and  the  rivalries  between  his  mother  and  the 
other  wives  of  his  father ;  between  his  mother's  children 
and  theirs?  You  ask  me  if  there  are  these  jealousies, 
and  I  ask  you  if  these  wives  are  not  women  ?  You  ask 
me  if  there  is  this  deceit,  and  I  ask  you  what  the  presi- 
dent of  the  church  told  the  government  and  what  he 
told  his  own  people  when  he  returned  home  ?  You  ask 
me  if  they  teach  one  thing  and  practise  another,  and  I 
ask  you  to  hear  their  sermons  and  investigate  their 
lives.     What  of  these  children? 


Do  you  know  that  in  Salt  Lake  City  there  are  houses 
with  secret  rooms,  with  sealed  doors  in  the  walls,  with 
trap-doors  in  the  floors,  which,  when  you  open  them, 
reveal  a  flight  of  steps  which  descend  to  an  underground 
apartment?  I  can  give  you  the  street  and  number  of 
such  houses.  Why  were  they  built  and  what  of  the 
children  that  are  born  in  such  houses?  Do  you  know 
what  language  some  of  these  children  use  on  the  public 
school  grounds  ?  Have  you  ever  thought  of  the  future 
of  the  boys  and  girls  who  at  twelve  and  eleven,  even 
at  seven  and  six,  have  a  repertoire  of  foul  language,  of 

93 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

obscene,  perverted  knowledge,  who  lie  as  the  sparks  fly 
upward?  What  of  these  children  and  of  their  State 
and  their  country?  Whose  fault  is  it,  and  for  whose 
sins  are  they  suffering? 

We  asked  one  sad-eyed,  stoop-shouldered  old  Mor- 
mon woman,  who,  after  having  borne  a  dozen  chil- 
dren, was  earning  her  bread  by  washing,  what  she 
thought  of  polygamy.  She  wiped  the  suds  off  her 
hands  and  the  sweat  out  of  her  eyes  before  she  re- 
plied slowly,  as  though  weighing  every  word :  ''Well, 
I  suppose  it  has  to  be.  You  see,  there  are  seven  women 
in  the  world  to  where  there  is  one  man,  and,  you  see, 
heaven  ain't  open  to  a  woman  if  she  is  barren,  so,  of 
course,  God  meant  every  woman  to  have  children,  be- 
cause so  many  women  would  be  lost  if  the  men  didn't 
live  with  more  than  one." 

"Do  you  think  that  is  true  ?"  we  asked. 

*'Why,  ain't  it?"  she  asked,  as  astonished  as  though 
we  had  told  her  the  stars  had  fallen. 

"No,"  we  said,  "it's  a  lie." 

"But" — she  plaited  her  apron  and  knitted  her  brow 
in  bewilderment — "it  must  be  true  because  science 
says  so,  and — and  God  said  so,  too." 

"Who  told  you  so?"  we  demanded. 

"Bishop,"  she  replied.  And  so  long  as  bishop  can 
make  them  believe  his  interpretation  of  science  and  of 
God  so  long  will  he  have  a  halter  around  the  necks  of 
the  women  of  his  ward.  As  for  the  men — the  bishop's 
teaching  takes  away  the  curb  of  decency  and  makes  a 
virtue  of  licentiousness. 


94 


THE  SINS  OF  THE  FATHER. 

A  woman  in  our  ward  fell  ill  last  winter,  and  it  came 
to  the  ears  of  her  neighbors  that  she  and  her  children 
were  without  food  or   fuel.     We  took   some  of  our 
Saturday  baking  and  went  over  to  see  her.     She  was 
in  bed  in  a  room  destitute  of  comfort  or  order.    Four 
little  children,  the  eldest  a  boy  of  eight,  and  the  young- 
est a  baby  of  two  years  of  age,  were  huddled  around 
a   rusted   stove   in   which    smoked    and    smoldered   a 
meager  fire  of  damp  sticks,  which  was  the  only  anti- 
dote to  the  chill  of  the  desolate  adobe  shack.     The 
children  were  ragged  and  dirty  past  belief,  and,  judg- 
ing from  the  aviditv  with  which  they  devoured  the 
food  we  set  on  the  table,  were  half-starved.    There  was 
an  older  girl,  a  hollow-eyed,  tubercular  child  of  four- 
teen, who  was  out  working  for  a  living  until  she  had 
fallen  ill  several  weeks  before.     We  asked  her  where 
the  children's  father  was,  and  she  told  us  that  he  had 
gone  on  a  mission.     She  went  on  to  say  that  she  and 
her  brother  were  to  send  him  $5  a  month.  The  brother 
had  been  out  of  work  all  winter,  and,  what  with  the 
tithing  and  sending  the  money  to  her  husband,  and 
the  slow  pay  and  small  washings  of  some  of  her  cus- 
tomers, she  had  not  been  able  to  save  any  money.  Some 
women  are  so  shockingly  extravagant! 

She  made  a  pretense  of  religious  fervor,  and  said, 
with  a  sanctimonious  whine,  that  Christ  was  sufficient 
for  her.  We  looked  at  the  children,  all  of  whom,  in- 
cluding the  baby,  were  Rawing"  into  the  lemon  pie 
which  one  of  the  neighbors  had  contributed.  We  took 
note  of  their  hungry,  chalky  faces,  their  crafty  shift- 
ing eyes,  and  cried  out  in  the  bitterness  of  our  heartsj 
"He  is  not  sufficient  to  feed  and  clothe  your  children. 

95 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN, 

''Oh,  well,"  she  said  easily,  "they'll  soon  be  out  from 
under  foot."    What  of  them  then  ? 


Is  there  anywhere  under  the  vault  of  heaven  more 
need  of  missionaries  than  in  the  State  of  Utah?  Are 
there  any  vines  in  the  vineyard  of  the  Lord  more  filled 
with  poisoned  branches  than  are  on  this  prolific  tree 
of  Mormonism?  Who  needs  the  teaching  of  Christ 
more  than  the  children  of  this  alleged  religion?  Who 
needs  saving  if  not  the  children  whose  pre-natal  in- 
fluence was  of  oppression,  licentiousness,  and  perverted 
law?  The  black  sins  of  the  fathers  of  polygamy  are 
being  visited  upon  the  children,  upon  the  State,  and 
upon  the  country,  verily  unto  the  third  and  fourth  gen- 
eration. Confronted  with  this  problem,  we  can  only 
bow  our  heads  and  say  humbly :  ''Lead,  kindly  light," 
away  from  the  "cause  of  this  great  evil."  Let  us  pray 
for  the  children  of  Utah. 


96 


X. 

THE  HORNET'S  NEST. 

Moreover  the  Lord  thy  God  will  send  the  hornet  among 
them,  until  they  that  are  left  and  hide  themselves  from  thee, 
be  destroyed. — Deut.  xx.  7. 


I  have  not  written  any  little  idyls  of  Mormon  life 
and  love  for  two  weeks,  and  I'll  tell  you  why :  I  have 
been  horribly  frightened;  I  actually  thought  that  I 
would  get  the  death  endowment,  and  that  the  only  way 
in  which  I  could  communicate  with  the  Mormons  would 
be  the  unsatisfactory  one  of  tipping  the  table  or  "rap- 
ping" on  some  elder's  bald  spot.  I  have  had  grave 
reason  to  doubt  that  I  would  be  allowed  in  the  garden 
until  the  last  day,  and  it  looked  like  I  might  go  as  chaff 
at  any  time,  and  all  because  of  these  same  little  idyls. 
In  fact,  one  good  Christian  lady  did  intimate  that,  had 
I  so  presumed  to  meddle  with  the  holy  of  holies  a  few 
years  ago — well,  I  wouldn't  of  dast,  that's  all.  I  came 
up  against  a  regular  head-on  collision ;  it  seems  that 
every  last  thing  I  had  told  was  like  unto  a  shoe,  which 
pinched  some  sainted  foot,  and  that  it  was  all  laid  up 
agin'  me.  I  have  waited  as  long  as  I  dared  for  a  reve- 
lation in  the  matter,  but  as  nothing  has  revelated  so 
far,  I  have  decided  to  act  on  my  own  accord  and  make 
such  retractions  and  amends  as  seem  to  be  necessary. 

Speaking  of  revelations,  you  know  how  the  bishop 
does  over  at  Huntsville?     Well,  he  waits  and  keeps 

97 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

the  town  waiting  until  he  gets  a  revelation  from  Al- 
mighty to  see  if  it  is  right  to  mend  the  hole  in  the 
sidewalk  before  it  breaks  any  more  legs,  or  whether 
they  had  better  put  the  money  it  would  take  into  im- 
proving the  meeting-house.  As  nearly  as  one  can 
judge,  the  town  is  always  on  the  qui  vive  for  a  revela- 
tion as  to  what  it  should  do,  and,  in  the  meantime, 
trims  its  nails,  and  whittles,  and  kills  time  as  best  it 
can,  until  the  bishop  throws  some  light  on  the  divine 
will  as  to  what  they  should  busy  themselves  at.  Some 
people  seem  to  think  that  this  is  detrimental  to  the 
town,  but  it  seems  to  me  that  if  these  people  really 
believed  that  these  revelations  were  due  from  the  Al- 
mighty Power,  really,  truly,  that  they  would  not  laugh 
or  fret  at  their  delay.  I  doubt  that  they  do,  just  as  I 
doubt  that  they  believe  that  Christ  is  coming  in  a  few 
short  years.  If  it  should  be  true,  and  if  the  stone  one 
of  the  saints  stumbled  over  in  the  center  of  the  earth 
does  mean  the  fulfilment  of  a  prophecy,  and  that  the 
days  before  the  day  of  judgment  are  numbered,  are 
the  saints  all  ready  for  a  short-notice  ascension?  I 
am  afraid  that  some  of  them  are  figuring  on  Christ 
wearing  blinders  when  He  does  come,  but  I  promised  to 
retract,  didn't  I? 

I  can't  say  that  any  of  the  statements  made  in  my 
ofifending  article  are  not  true ;  they  are  all  from  actual, 
every-day  ''garden  of  Eden"  life,  and  as  I  made  solemn 
covenant  with  the  editor  to  do,  I  have  verified  every 
statement  before  publishing  it  as  a  fact,  but  since  by 
so  writing  I  have  lacerated  the  feelings  of  a  number  of 
good  people,  I  will  gladly  make  what  changes  I  can ; 
turn  out  the  green  and  put  on  the  rose  lights,  so  to 
speak. 

98 


THE  HORNETS  NEST. 

I  felt,  in  the  beginning,  that  since  the  church  pub- 
licly denounced  polygamy  and  discountenanced  its  prac- 
tise— since  the  manifesto  (which,  by  the  way,  seems 
to  be  a  movable  feast)  that  as  an  organization  it  would 
be  grateful  to  me  for  sort  of  hunting  up  these  people 
and  calling  attention  to  the  fact  that  its  president  was 
betraying  their  trust.  You  see,  I  thought  that  maybe 
they  were  so  busy  collecting  the  tithing  and  one  thing 
and  another  that  they  would  be  glad  to  have  me  do  it, 
but  they  don't  seem  to  be :  they  all  seem  to  want  to 
leave  the  black  covering  over  that  little  issue  undis- 
turbed. Besides,  whose  business  is  it,  anyway?  I 
should  have  been  more  modest,  too,  than  to  have  al- 
luded to  some  things,  because  by  so  doing  I  have 
shocked  some  of  the  older  saints  who  are  not  accus- 
tomed to  living  with  more  than  a  dozen  wives  at  once, 
and  think  it  isn't  nice  to  speak  of  some  subjects.  St. 
Paul  said  something  about  women  keeping  silent,  and 
the  idea  sorter  clings  to  some  of  these  latter-day 
prophets. 

Since  coming  to  Utah  I  have  met  some  splendid  peo- 
ple who  are  Mormons.  I  am  proud  to  count  some  of 
these  as  my  friends ;  among  them  are  sincere,  earnest, 
Christian  men  and  women,  who  to  know  is  to  respect 
and  love.  These  articles  are  not  in  any  way  concerned 
with  these  people,  who  should,  if  they  cared  to 
investigate  the  truth,  which  they  could  almost  read  as 
they  run,  about  some  of  the  earthly  practises  of  the 
divine  (so-called)  law,  cooperate  with  me  in  bringing 
to  the  light  those  things  of  which  they  cannot  but  dis- 
approve. 

Now,  about  some  of  those  promised  retractions :  The 
elder  did  not  wear  his  beard  for  a  shirt-front,  or  grow 

99 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

it  to  use  as  a  cuspidor ;  he  wears  it  for  an  ornament, 
but  since,  like  the  poor,  it  is  always  with  him,  and  a 
cuspidor  isn't  (while  the  need  for  one  is),  well,  the 
beard  is  more  in  the  nature  of  a  catch-all — so  I  will 
take  that  back. 

About  that  woman  who  took  poison :  I  cannot  re- 
tract the  statement  that  she  took  it,  because  she  did, 
but  it  may  be  that  she  liked  poison,  and  took  it  for 
that  reason,  instead  of  the  one  inferred — because  her 
husband  had  a  faculty  of  bringing  home  other  wives, 
now  and  again. 

Then,  too,  I  was  severely  called  down  for  mention- 
ing that  godless  old  Gentile  who  had  his  ears  cut  off 
by  the  saints.  I  can't  say  that  he  didn't  have  his  ears 
trimmed,  because,  you  see,  they  show  it  so  plain ;  but, 
then,  it  may  be  that  he  didn't  really  need  ears,  any- 
way. 

Again,  I  offended  the  woman  whose  husband  was  on 
a  mission  to  Australia.  She  said  her  children  never 
pawed  no  pie,  and  so  I  must  correct  that.  They  might 
not  have  been  so  hungry,  it  might  have  been  curiosity 
to  see  what  a  pie  would  look  like.  Now  that  she  is 
well  and  able  to  wash  again,  and  make  money,  she  says 
that  Christ  ain't  sufficient  for  all  her  needs.  Anyway, 
she  is  mad  at  me,  and  sent  back  all  my  jelly  glasses, 
as  much  as  to  say  that  it  is  all  off  between  us. 

That  story  about  Sylvia  and  grandma.  Now,  the 
girl's  name  isn't  Sylvia  at  all,  but  she  did  come  from 
Australia,  and,  bless  your  heart,  if  every  one  didn't 
seem  to  know  about  it  before  I  told  them !  And  they 
say  that  I  hadn't  ought  to  have  put  it  in  print ;  it  isn't 
a  nice  story,  not  good  reading  for  young  girls.    I  own 

lOO 


THE  HORNETS  NEST. 

right  up  that  it  is  not,  but  if  only  one  girl  read  it  and 
was  made  a  little  more  wise  thereby,  then  I  am  glad 
it  was  told,  and  printed.  I  can't  retract  any  of  that, 
excepting  that  the  bishop  provided  for  her— he  did,  a 
little  while— but  she  is  now  working  for  her  own  and 
her  little  child's  board  and  $8  a  month. 

But  nothing,  in  all  that  I  have  written,  seems  to  have 
offended  so  many  people  and  to  have  fitted  so  many 
feet  as  the  little  tale  called  the  "Sins  of  the  Father." 
I  got  that  name  from  the  Bible,  too.  Sad  as  it  makes 
me  feel  to  say  so,  I  can't  amend  any  statement  made 
therein  I  have  tried  it  from  different  viewpoints,  and 
studied  the  matter  under  different  lights,  but  I  cannot 
make  any  difference  in  the  blackness  of  the  situation. 
I  cannot  see  it  in  any  light  but  sinful,  wicked,  abhor- 
rent. ^     .  r         J 

I  had  occasion  to  hire  a  boy  of  sixteen  a  few  days 
ago  to  assist  me.  I  was  interested  to  learn  what  he 
thought  of  the  youth  in  Utah.  This  boy,  who  seemed 
a  nice  lad,  is  the  son  of  a  fifth  wife;  he  has  younger 
brothers  and  sisters,  and  his  father  has  a  younger  wife 
than  his  mother.  They  must  both  have  been  very 
young  for  matrimony  before  the  manifesto,  I  judge.  I 
asked  this  boy  what  he  thought  of  polygamy. 
'T  don't  know,"  he  said. 
''Does  the  church  know  it  is  being  practised  now? 

I  asked. 

He  hesitated.  "Well,  they  let  on  they  don't;  but 
they  don't  say  nothing  against  it  to  the  people  who 
do  live  that  way." 

"But  what  do  you  think  of  it?"  I  asked  again. 

"I  don't  know  much  else,"  he  said ;  then  added  fierce- 
ly :    "I  think  it  is  awful.    I  aim  to  get  out  of  this  place 

lOI 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

this  fall.  I  am  going  to  the  coast,  and  when  I  get 
started  I  am  going  to  send  for  my  mother.  She  has 
to  work  awful  hard  here." 

"Don't  your  father  provide  for  her?" 

"I  should  say  not.  He  ain't  done  nothing  for  us 
since  he  was  married  the  last  time.  It  keeps  him  hump- 
ing to  provide  for  his  last  wife  and  her  kids." 

I  have  no  words  that  will  express  the  bitterness  in 
that  boy's  tone.  He  went  on :  "I  can't  get  ahead  none 
here.  I  work  all  the  time,  but  I  am  taxed  for  some- 
thing all  the  time ;  this  week  it  is  $3  for  repairs  on  the 
meeting-house,  and  every  week  it's  tithing.     I  never 

see  any  good  of  what  I  earn." 

******* 

I  agreed  that  the  faith  did  seem  a  bit  expensive,  but 
good  things  come  high  everywhere. 

"Do  you  think  the  children  in  Utah  are  good  or 
bad?" 

"Rotten,"  he  said  emphatically.  "There  was  a 
woman  wrote  a  piece  in  the  Salt  Lake  Tribune  about 
the  school  kids  here.  It  wasn't  half  strong  enough. 
But  you  can't  expect  so  much  of  the  children ;  I  know 
some  girls  here  that  their  own  father  ruined." 

"But  that  is  a  terrible  crime,"  I  said.  "A  man  gets 
a  Hfe  sentence  for  that." 

"Not  here,"  the  boy  asserted.  "This  man  only  got 
six  months." 

I  remembered  coming  through  Walla  Walla,  where 
the  State  prison  of  Washington  is  situated,  a  year  ago 
this  autumn.  Our  train  stopped  opposite  the  prison, 
and  the  sheriff  of  Colfax  got  off,  and  led  a  handcuffed 
man  slowly  up  the  path  to  the  iron  gates.  It  was  near- 
ing  sunset,  and  the  red  reflection  of  the  setting  sun 

102 


THE  HORNETS  NEST. 

shone  on  the  gray  walls  of  the  prison  and  glinted  from 
the  barred  windows.  Somebody  said  that  the  man  was 
to  be  committed  for  life,  and  a  murmur  of  sympathy 
ran  through  the  car,  until  it  was  whispered  from  seat 
to  seat  the  nature  of  the  crime  for  which  he  was  giv- 
inc^  up  the  liberty  of  the  remainder  of  his  life— the 
same  crime  as  men  in  Utah  are  sentenced  to  six  months 
for— and    no  one   thought    the    life    sentence    severe 

enough.  ^  .    ^ 

Why  is  there  this  difference?  Is  not  one  reason  that 
the  State  deals  so  gently  with  such  crimes  as  the  one 
above  alluded  to  because  the  church  started,  and  has 
always  upheld,  perversions  of  the  moral  law?  Is  not 
that  one  reason  why  Utah  as  a  State  is  so  accustomed 
to  awful  moral  conditions  that  she  gives  such  offenders 
six  months,  where  her  sister  States  give  life  sentences? 
I  did  not  say  it  was,  I  asked  you.  ^    t  u  v 

Is  it  another  traceable  result  of  polygamy?  I  believe 
I  must  close  by  saying  that  I  am  sore  afraid  that  the 
sins  of  Utah  to-day  started  many  years  ago  with  the 
sins  of  the  fathers'  polygamy.  Good  never  yet  came 
from  evil. 


103 


XL 
WHAT  CHRIST  WOULD  FIND  IF  HE  CAME. 


One  woe  is  past;  and  behold   there  came  two  more  here- 
after.—Rev.  IX.   12. 


Brother  Amos  had  dropped  in  to  tea  at  Sister 
Loomis'.  She  always  had  hot  scones  and  jam  tart 
and  cup  cake  at  tea.  and,  shocking  to  tell,  despite  the 
Word  of  Wisdom,  black  tea.  Brother  Amos  always 
told  her  the  sin  of  this  indulgence,  the  while  he  passed 
his  cup  to  be  refilled  ;  he  always  said  that  he  feared  he 
would  have  a  headache,  so  maybe  he  better  drink  it 
this  time.  As  for  Sister  Loomis,  she  said  that  if  a  cup 
of  tea  would  keep  her  out  of  the  Kingdom,  then  she 
would  stay  out.  She  was  an  Englishwoman,  and  kept 
her  native  method  of  ministering  to  the  body  after  she 
had  accepted  the  Mormon  custom  of  nourishing  the 
spirit. 

She  had  been  persuaded  to  come  to  Zion,  and,  to- 
gether with  the  rest  of  His  chosen,  await  the  second 
coming  of  Christ ;  she  had  a  fancy  that  she  would  find 
them  all  fairly  panting  with  eagerness  for  that  day  to 
dawn — they  were,  meeting-time,  but  after — well,  they 
seemed  about  as  anxious  for  the  loaves  and  fishes  as 
did  the  unredeemed.  Sister  Loomis  was  too  British 
to  see  a  joke,  and  so  she  puzzled  over  the  condition  in 
the  antechamber.    She  asked  Brother  Amos  about  them 

104 


WHAT  CHRIST   WOULD  FIND, 

while  she  dished  the  tea.  Brother  Amos  answered  her 
indirectly,  in  his  prayer.  He  always  prayed  through 
his  nose,  under  the  impression,  apparently,  that  a  nasal 
tone  was  the  best  to  carry  upward.  He  reminded  God 
of  the  promise  that  Christ  was  to  come  again,  and 
soon,  to  confound  the  wicked;  and  asked,  earnestly 
and  nasally,  that  He  would  send  that  His  followers 
have  more  faith,  and  would  trust  without  question  to 
those  in  authority,  and  to  rely  on  the  word  of  the 
anointed  prophet.  Sister  Loomis  felt  rebuked,  but,  be- 
ing English,  she  still  wondered  what  the  Lord  Christ 
wanted  of  all  the  tithing  collected  in  His  name.  He 
who  had  been  a  humble  laborer  of  Galilee ;  and  what 
He,  whose  name  stands  for  purity,  would  think  of 
certain  things  in  Zion  if  He  should  come  before  "those 
in  authority"  would  have  time  to  close  the  back  en- 
trance. 

******* 

To  tell  the  truth.  Sister  Loomis'  faith  had  lacked  the 
solidity  of  the  mountain  ever  since  she  had  taken  in 
old  lady  Page,  and,  too,  since  her  young  daughter. 
Pearl,  had  quite  refused  to  stay  in  of  nights.  Pearl 
had  been  a  good  girl  in  England ;  but  here,  her  mother 
sickened  with  apprehension  at  the  way  she  was  "going 
on.''  Grandma  Page  had  been  on  the  hands  of  the 
relief  society  for  some  time ;  it  gets  tiresome,  reheving 
the  same  person  all  the  time,  as  every  one  knows,  so 
Sister  Loomis,  being  new  and  zealous,  had  been  in- 
duced to  give  her  a  home— the  need  of  one  would  be 
short.  The  old  lady  had  long  since  outgrown  her  use- 
fulness, and  her  husband,  noble  man,  had  taken  a 
younger  wife  and  moved  away,  so  as  not  to  be  need- 

105 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

lessly  annoyed  by  any  silly  claims  this  useless  old 
woman  might  make  on  him.  She  was  sort  of  annoying 
because  she  didn't  seem  especially  grateful  to  the 
church  for  keeping  her  alive,  or  to  Sister  Loomis  for 
giving  her  a  home.  She  was  wont  to  sit  broodingly 
silent  near  the  fire;  she  would  seldom  go  to  the  table 
at  meal-time,  and  often  forgot  to  eat  what  Sister 
Loomis  took  to  her.  To-day,  however,  she  seemed  sort 
of  "perked  up,"  and  interested  in  what  they  were  say- 
ing. She  hobbled  over  to  the  table  and  sat  down, 
facing  Brother  Amos,  but  she  spoke  to  Sister  Loomis. 
Her  voice  sounded,  some  way,  like  the  dry  rustle  of 
a  sere  leaf,  and  her  face  was  the  color  of  its  last  dun 
hue,  before  the  snow  covered  its  decay. 

"Ye  was  askin'  what  Christ  'ud  find  if  He  come," 
she  said.  'I'd  d'know  what  all  He'd  find,  but  if  ye 
hark  I'll  tell  ye  a  few  things  a-waitin'  fer  the  cleansin' 
fire  an'  the  flamin'  sword  that  is  promised  in  the 
Word." 

She  moistened  her  dry  lips,  and  Brother  Amos  unctu- 
ously passed  her  a  scone,  which  she  waved  aside  with 
a  gesture  of  her  withered,  fleshless  hand. 

"Saint  Paul,"  reminded  Brother  Amos,  who  knew 
something  of  what  she  could  tell  if  she  were  allowed 
to  talk,  "commanded  that  women  keep  silent  in  the 
sanctuary,  and  I  take  that  to  mean  silent  regarding 
those  matters  it  is  not  given  them  to  understand.'* 

"The  Bible  says,  too,  that  all  men  are  liars,"  Sister 
Loomis  said,  with  spirit.  "And  it  don't  say  'except 
Saint  Paul,'  either.  Go  on,  grandma.  You  was 
sayin'  ?" 

The  old  woman  laughed,  and  her  laugh  sounded  like 
the  crackle  of  dried  leaves,  blown  about  by  an  adverse 

io6 


WHAT  CHRIST  WOULD  FIND. 

wind.  "If  ever  the  Mormons  git  a  man-heaven,"  she 
said,  "it  will  be  full  of  tongueless  women.  I  mind  me 
when  Brother  Kimball  used  to  speak  of  his  wives  as 
'noisy  heifers' ;  all  is,  though,  he  never  treated  'em  half 
so  well.  In  them  days,  wives  was  plentier  nor  cattle, 
an'  treated  with  less  notice." 


Brother  Amos,  who  had  listened  fidgetingly  to  this  ar- 
raignment against  some  of  his  sainted  leaders,  suc- 
ceeded in  catching  Sister  Loomis'  eye,  and  surrep- 
titiously tapped  his  forehead  and  smiled  meaningly.  The 
old  woman  saw  his  gesture.  Her  eyes  flamed  as  with 
an  afterglow  of  an  all  but  extinguished  fire.  "Funny 
an'  strange  it  is  that  I  ain't  off  here,"  she  said,  tap- 
ping her  seamed  old  brow  in  exact  imitation  of  his 
gesture,  "but  I  ain't,  and  I  never  was.  Trouble  with 
me  an'  the  Mormons  was,  I  was  always  too  sane  fer 
'em.  I  am  yet.  I  sorter  hang  in  with  some  of  the 
women,  because  they  are  good  and  unhappy  if  they 
don't  believe  the  fearful  things  you  all  teach,  an'  good 
an'  crazy  if  they  do ;  ain't  no  harm  in  'em  either  way." 

Sister  Loomis  pressed  a  saucer  of  cooled  tea  on  the 
old  woman,  who  balanced  it  with  two  tremulous  hands 
and  drank  it  gurglingly. 

"I  don't  know  as  she  should  overdo  talking,"  Brother 
Amos  said,  as  he  reached  for  a  jam  tart. 

"  'Twould  be  terrible  for  me  to  overdo,"  grandma 
retorted,  with  a  sarcastic  little  echo  of  a  laugh.  "Ye 
mout  need  a  dose  o'  bitters  afore  ye  git  through  lis- 
tenin'  to  me  overdo.  Is  this  a  spring  or  a  fall  storm?" 
she  asked  of  the  younger  woman,  as  a  gust  of  wind 
rattled  the  windows  and  shook  a  handful  of  sodden 

107 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

leaves  from  the  box  elder-tree  that  shielded  the  house 
from  the  street. 

"It  is  fall,  grandma,  don't  you  mind?" 

"You  see" — Brother  Amos  spoke  with  an  assumption 
of  pity — "poor  grandma  don't  even  mind  the  time  o' 
day,  or  year." 

"I  do  git  forgetful  of  them  little  things,"  the  old 
•woman  agreed,  "but  the  big  ones — them  I  remember, 
an'  I  am  saving  of  'em  up  to  tell  Christ  v^hen  He 
comes." 

"I  don't  know  as  you  have  aught  against  me," 
Brother  Amos  said,  as  though  he  had  been  accused. 

"I  have  some  things  to  recall  agin'  your  kind,"  she 
answered  with  asperity.  She  allowed  herself  another 
saucerful  of  tea.  "That  was  spring,"  she  said,  "dur- 
ing a  spring  rain." 

Sister  Loomis  reached  up  on  the  clock-shelf  and 
took  down  her  knitting.  Brother  Amos  shifted  un- 
easily in  his  chair  and  cleared  his  throat.  He  wished 
he  had  the  authority  of  Saint  Paul  and  could  com- 
mand silence  in  the  babbling  sex.  Such  tales  were  not 
good  for  new,  well-paying  converts  to  hear.  Whoever 
supposed  that,  after  years  of  stupid  silence,  the  old 
woman  would  take  a  notion  to  talk?  But  she  was  con- 
tinuing, her  cracked  old  voice  was  growing  stronger  as 
she  continued  speaking:  "I  was  saying  that  it  was 
springtime,  an'  that  there  was  a  storm,  rattlin'  the 
windows  like  this.  I  never  hear  that  sound,  or  the 
creak  of  tree  branches  'out  I  think  on  that  night.  The 
storm  come  up  sudden  and  fierce,  as  though 
God  A'mighty  Himself  was  sending  it  in  anger  at 
their  doin's."  She  fell  silent  a  moment,  and  Brother 
Amos  essayed  a  wink  at  Sister  Loomis.    "I  wish,"  she 

io8 


WHAT  CHRIST   WOULD  FIND. 

spoke  again  presently,  withdrawing  her  eyes  with  an 
effort  from  the  open  window,  through  which  she  saw 
the  bared  branches  of  the  trees  tossing  in  the  dreary 
wind,  "you'd  pull  down  that  window-shade.  I  seem 
to  see  the  spirits  of  them  that's  gone,  an'  I  am  wont 
to  fall  to  talkin'  to  them  of  things  we  knew  an'  re- 
member, instead  of  to  you— of  things  you  never  heard 

of,  or  hev  forgot." 

^  *****  * 

Sister  Loomis  lowered  the  shade. 
*'What  things,  grandma?"  she  asked. 
"Things  to  do  with  them  airly  days,  with  my  own 
husband'an'  our  little  girl— was  her  spirit  I  thought  I 
saw  then,  in  the  wind,  the  yellow  turn  of  a  leaf  seemed 
to  grow  into  her  shinin',  silken  hair.     We  never  took 
stock  in  the   Mormons;  John,  my  man,  was  against 
them  from  the  first.     He  was  a  schoolmaster,  but  he 
got  lung  fever,  an'  we  thought  to  change  country,  an' 
homestead.    We  crossed  the  plains  with  a  wagon.    We 
had  a  terrible  time ;  I  can  feel  the  heat  of  that  desert 
sun  on  my  head  to  this  day;  we  run  out  of  water,  an' 
would  'a'  left  our  bones  bleachin'  if  we  hadn't  'a'  fell  in 
with  a  train  of  Mormons.     They  agreed  to  take  us 
with  them  if  we  would  side  in  with  their  faith.    Seemed 
a  small  enough  thing  to  do  then,  but  we  never  guessed 
—we  never  guessed  what  it  meant  when  we  promised 
—out  there  in  that  scorchin'  desert  path,  to  join  in 
their  ways.     We  got  settled,  an'  one  day  here  come 
the  bishop,  savin'  that  he  had  had  a  revelation  from 
A'mio-hty  God^to  take  me  for  his  wife.    John  flared  up 
awful    'She  is  my  lawful  wife !'  he  yells,  'an'  you  are 
a  liar.'     He  went  then,  mutterin'.     Next  night  two 
men  called  an'  warned  John  not  to  go  agin'  God's  wish. 

lOQ 


THE  RErELATIOX  L\'   THE  MOUNTAIN. 


He  laughed  at  them,  an*  they  went.  Xext  day  there 
was  a  number  writ  in  the  sand  in  our  doonard,  the 
next  it  was  on  our  door,  an*  ever}-  day  as  sure  as 
momin*  came  we  saw  the  number.  My  Uttle  girl 
would  point  it  out  with  her  finger  and  laugh.  Laugh ! 
Dear  God  I  One  evenin',  drawin'  on  dusk,  a  ofiScer 
came  in,  an',  showing  his  badge,  says  to  John,  *I  arrest 
ye  in  the  name  of  the  law.'  'What  forr  asked  John, 
wonderin',  fer  if  ever  a  man  was  law-abidin'  it  was  him. 
Ter  stealin*  sheep,*  he  says.  'AVe  found  *em  in  your 
paster.'  'That's  a  lie  I"  John  yells.  1  just  come  from 
the  paster  an'  there  weren't  no  sheep  there.'  For  an- 
swer the  man  opened  the  back  door  an*  pointed  out, 
an'  there,  sure  enough,  we  could  see  a  little  bunch  of 
sheep  huddled  together  in  our  paster.  'There  may  be 
a  mistake,'  the  omcer  says,  *an'  if  there  be,  it  will  be 
as  easy  as  rollin'  down  hill  fer  ye  to  git  off,  but  until 

it  can  be  straightened  out '     He  put  his  hand  on 

John's  shoulder,  an'  I,  knowin'  what  it  meant,  put 
my  arm  around  him  an'  begun  to  cry.  Officer  seemed 
sorter  put  out,  an'  he  says,  says  he,  'Now,  looky-  here. 
Brother  Page,  I  don't  beheve  you  stole  them  sheep :  I 
hate  to  lock  ye  up.  I  do  so :  but  ye  have  been  a  leetle 
stiff-necked  with  the  church,  an*  it  may  be  a  bit  of  disci- 
plinin  ye  need.  Them  sheep  bein'  stole,  an*  bein'  found 
on  your  land  so,  makes  it  look  queer,  but  Fm  soft- 
hearted, I  am,'  he  says,  sorter  smackin*  his  lips,  'and 
Fll  tell  ye  what  1*11  do:  Fll  leave  the  window  of  the 
jail  unbarred — by  mistake,*  \\-inkin'  at  me.  'an'  when  it 
gits  dark,  you  m.ake  your  escape.  Do  you  see?"  We 
didn't  see.  and  John  said  so,  but  the  officer  said,  *'Waal, 
I  will  of  done  m.y  doot\-,  arrestin'  of  you.  an'  the  au- 
thorities will  be  so  dimafounded  at  their  own  careless- 

IIO 


WHAT  CHRIST   WOULD  FIXD, 

ness  in  leavin'  the  window  unbarred,  as  they  will  sup- 
pose, that,  chances  is,  nothin'  more'll  be  said  to  you/ 
Of  course,  there  was  no  other  way  but  for  John  to  go, 
an'  I,  in  spite  of  the  ofhcer's  fair  words,  felt  such  a 
sick  feelin"  of  dread  that  I  took  my  Httle  girl  an'  fol- 
lowed close  behind  them.  I  stole  up  as  close  as  I  could, 
an'  hid  in  a  clump  of  bushes  just  outside  the  jail.  I 
saw  a  light  fiare  up,  an'  John  an'  the  officer  movin' 
around  in  the  cell ;  I  saw  the  officer  fumbUn'  with  the 
window :  then  John  tried  it,  an'  tumin*  around,  glad- 
like, an'  shakin'  hands  with  the  officer.  Then  we 
waited.  Xight  came  on,  an'  a  chill  wind  began  to  blow, 
the  trees  moaned  like  they  do  to-night,  an'  I  kept 
hearin'  a  sound  like  the  breathin'  of  excited  people,  but 
I  allowed  that  it  must  be  my  own  heart  I  heard.  Kitty 
clung  clost  to  m.e,  an'  I  lulled  her  to  sleep ;  then,  finally, 
^lormonism — Twenty  Four 

after  a  long  time,  I  see  John  come  to  the  window  an' 
look  all  around,  then  raise  it  slowly,  an'  put  out  his 
head,  an'  then — an'  then — he  started  to  climb  out,  an' 
— an' " 

She  took  to  trembling  so  violently  that  she  could 
not  speak,  her  weak,  quivering  chin  dropped.  Pearl, 
w^ho  had  ccm.e  in  unobser^-ed  during  the  old  lady's 
monologue,  ran  to  her  and  put  her  strong  young  arm 
around  the  bowed  old  shoulders.  Sister  Locmis  hastily 
poured  a  bit  of  liquor  in  a  cup  and  gave  it  to  her. 

"You  see,"  Brother  Amos  said,  "1  warned  you 
against  allowing  her  to  talk."' 

The  old  lady  gave  him  a  half-smile,  full  of  mean- 
ing, and  in  a  moment  continued  speaking  in  a  con- 
trolled voice.  'Then  a  number  of  men  ran  out,  irom 
all  around  the  bushes  near  where  we  vras  hid,  an' — 

III 


THE  REVELATION  IN  THE  MOUNTAIN, 

an' — murdered  him  there  in  cold  blood,  before  my  very 
eyes." 

"Oh!"  the  girl  cried  out,  shuddering.    ''Don't!" 

*'You  see,"  Brother  Amos  said,  ''I  suppose  they 
thought  he  was  breakin'  jail." 

"You  hush,"  the  old  woman  hissed.  He  hushed. 
**He  was  betrayed,  murdered,  by  the  same  low  treach- 
ery that  has'  lured  many  a  man  an'  woman  to  their 
death.  I  ran  to  him,  fightin'  my  way  through  that  pack 
of  wild  beasts  that  A'mighty  had  made  a  mistake  an' 
put  in  the  form  o'  men ;  they  was  hackin'  his  dear  body 
in  the  sign  o'  the  four  (if  ye  don't  know  what  that  is, 
Brother  Amos  here  can  tell  ye)." 

There  was  another  palpitating  silence  before  she 
could  gather  strength  to  go  on :  "An'  then,  when  they 
had  him  mutilated  they  took  him  an'  me  an'  my  little 
girl  an'  locked  us  in  a  room  together.  I  begged — 
oh,  God !  how  I  begged ! — that  they  wouldn't  make  my 
baby  look  at  that  terrible,  bleeding  thing  that  had  been 
her  father,  but  they  pushed  right  up  to  him,  an'  her, 
nothin'  but  a  baby  who  had  known  nothin'  but  lovin' 
looks  an'  fair  words  all  her  life.  They  told  her  an' 
me  to  look  until  we  had  learned  what  happened  to 
them  as  went  agin'  the  law  of  the  church.  I  don't 
know  how  long  we  was  locked  up ;  I  hev  lost  all  count. 
Next  I  remember,  I  was  at  bishop's  house ;  one  of  his 
wives  was  carin'  for  me,  I  was  like  a  infant.  When 
I  asked  for  Kitty,  they  told  me  that  she  was  dead.  I 
never  knew  if  that  was  true,  if  they  had  killed  her,  or 
if  some  fiend  had  stole  her  away.  The  bishop  had  his 
way  an'  married  me.  I — I  reckon  it  must  have  been  a 
long  time  ago." 

She  held  one  withered  hand  up  before  her  eyes,  and 

112 


WHAT  CHRIST   WOULD  FIND. 

looked  at  it  closely.  "I  must  be  very  old,"  she  said 
musingly.  ''I  hev  waited  from  youth  on  to  now,  to 
see  that  day  dawn  when  A'mighty  God  would  fulfil 
His  promise."  Slow  and  solemn  as  a  benediction  she 
pronounced  the  last  words  of  her  story:  "Vengeance 
is  mine,  saith  the  Lord.     I  will  repay." 

The  wind,  grown  more  boisterous,  tore  madly  round 
the  house.  The  fire  flared  up  on  the  hearth  and  il- 
luminated the  strangely  contrasted  faces  in  the  little 
group  in  Sister  Loomis'  dining-room.  The  old  woman, 
exhausted,  had  fallen  asleep  in  her  chair.  Sister 
Loomis  pointed  a  dramatic  finger  at  her  unconscious 
form.  "If  Christ  should  come  He  would  find  such 
as  she,"  she  said. 

"And  such  as  me,"  the  girl  half-moaned. 

"You,  Pearl  ?"  her  mother  asked ;  she  looked  at  her 
and  hid  her  face  in  her  apron. 

"Every  one  here  seems  the  same,"  the  girl  said  des- 
perately. "They  don't  think  like  we  did  in  England 
about  things.  It — it  was  a  missionary  himself  who — 
who  told  me  that  God  did  not  side  in  with  the  law  of 
the  wicked  Gentiles;  but  because  they  persecuted  us 
so,  we  had  to  keep  our  sacred  love  a  secret ;  then,  when 
I  told  him  I  must  tell  you,  he— he  laughed  at  me,  an' 
said  he  had  a  wife,  an'  that  if  I  told,  they  would  send 
us  both  to  jail.  Don't  look  at  me  like  that,  mother.  I 
never  wanted  to  leave  our  church  or  England,  and  it 
was  you  who  made  me  trust  the  Mormons.  I  didn't 
think  a  Mormon  missionary  would  lie.  There  are 
plenty  of  girls  like  me,  and  I  can  tell  you  things  you 
never  dreamed  of.  I  know  a  boy  right  here  in  Ogden, 
who  is  a  father,  and  he  ain't  sixteen.  I  know  a  little 
girl  who  has  had  two  babies,  an'  she  ain't  fifteen,  and 

113 


THE  REVELATION  IN  THE  MOUNTAIN. 

she  ain't  married.  Oh,  I  can  tell  things!  If  Christ 
does  come,  He  will  find  old  women  like  her,  and  young 
ones  like  me,  and  boys  and  girls  like  I  tell  you  about, 
and" — turning  fiercely  on  Brother  Amos,  "worse  than 
all,  men  like  you!" 

Brother  Amos  left.  He  not  only  feared  a  headache, 
but  he  had  one.  He  felt  timid,  too,  and  the  wavering 
shadows  of  the  trees  and  the  moaning  sigh  of  the 
wind  seemed  replete  with  terrible  meaning.  He  stood 
still.  Was  it  the  wind,  or  was  it  a  woman's  cry?  He 
shuddered  with  terror. 

If  Christ  comes.  He  will  find  many  as  guilty  a  con- 
science as  Brother  Amos'. 


114 


XII. 

A  LITTLE   STORY  OF  THE   RISE   OF   THE 

MORMONS. 

The  writer  of  these  little  idyls  of  the  Mormons  has 
been  severely  criticized,  even  threatened,  about  the  use 
of  the  word  authentic,  which  has  been  used  in  reference 
to  the  published  work.  As  long  as  they  were  written 
as  fiction,  said  a  saint,  then  they  could  not  injure  the 
church  (the  rock  upon  which  it  was  built  seems  to 
have  been  set  in  quicksand,  anyway),  but  as  truth!  If 
the  writer  escaped  civil  punishment,  she  would  be  sure 
to  have  celestial  chastisement  meted  out  for  so  daring 
to  reveal  to  a  gaping  world  some  of  the  sacred  secrets 
of  an  alleged  religion. 

The  stories  published  heretofore  are  not  strictly  ver- 
batim testimony,  and  in  a  sense  are  not  absolutely 
authentic,  and  it  is  the  present  purpose  of  the  writer 
to  tell  why.  The  actual,  authentic,  provable  facts  that 
have  been  investigated  for  the  purpose  of  putting  cer- 
tain phases  of  the  saints'  doctrine  in  the  form  of  stories 
were  in  every  instance  too  horrible,  too  blasphemous, 
too  obscene,  to  be  artistically  available  for  the  purpose 
for  which  they  were  written.  They  are  not,  then,  au- 
thentic in  so  much  as  a  veil  of  decency  has  perforce 
been  drawn  over  the  hideousness  of  the  undraped 
facts.  For  example,  in  the  story  which  will  give  the 
book  its  name,  the  impression  is  left  that  after  the 

115 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  'MOUNTAIN. 

agonizing  prayer  in  the  mountain  height,  when,  as  she 
felt,  the  Mormon  woman  drew  near  to  God,  that  her 
suppHcation  was  heard,  and  that  the  second  wife  was, 
as  she  had  begged,  treated  as  a  daughter.  Any  one 
famihar  with  the  teaching  and  practise  of  the  Mor- 
mons would  know  that  such  an  ending  would  never 
actually  have  occurred,  but  it  would  have  been  too 
ribald  to  have  written,  as  was  the  fact,  that  less  than 
a  year  after  his  promise  to  his  first  wife,  he  had  a 
child  by  the  adopted  daughter.  It  would  not  be  decent 
to  tell  about  that  revelation  of  the  halo  surrounding 
Brigham,  that,  before  it  was  ''called  in,"  resulted  in 
dozens  of  little  graves  so  placed  in  the  cemetery  that 
they  can  be  told  on  that  last  day,  from  the  ones  born  in 
what  they  paraphrase  wedlock.  Just  how  these  chil- 
dren were  brought  into  the  world,  and  why  they  all 
died  in  infancy,  would  not  do,  artistically,  to  have  told, 
any  more  than  it  would  do,  verbatim,  to  tell  why  one 
of  the  old  ''teachers"  said  that  their  work  was  easier 
now  than  it  was  before  the  manifesto;  it  wouldn't  do 
to  tell,  word  for  word,  the  reason  why  a  certain  polyg- 
amous wife  stood  at  her  doorway  with  an  axe  in  her 
hand  for  days,  or  why  certain  little  girls  are  invalids 
that  are  being  cared  for  by  a  mission  that  the  writer 
wots  of. 


Just  here  I  am  minded  to  tell  a  little  story  about 
that  wonderful,  mysterious  manuscript  that  stands  as 
a  particular  star  to  guide  the  brotherhood  of  saints. 
We  are  told,  whenever  we  go  through  the  tabernacle, 
that  the  Mormons  are  a  remnant  of  the  lost  tribe  re- 
ferred to  in  the  Scriptures.     They  have  been  lost  all 

n6 


RISE  OF  THE  MORMONS. 

right,  but,  as  nearly  as  can  be  judged,  have  never  been 
found;  as  for  the  remnant  part — that's  all  right,  too, 
only  that  they  have  been  marked  down  until  it  v^ere 
cheaper  to  leave  them  than  to  take  them,  even  if  one 
got  a  bonus  for  so  doing.  But  about  that  sacred  man- 
uscript, portions  of  which  were  revealed  as  fast  as  it 
was  thought  that  the  spiritual  bread  contained  therein 
could  be  digested.  Did  you  ever  wonder  where  that 
manuscript  came  from? 

The  writer  met  a  very  old  lady  recently,  who  told 
the  following  story.  If  it  should  be  true,  as  she  thinks 
it  is,  then  for  those  who  have  placed  the  hope  of  their 
soul's  salvation  on  the  testimony  translated  from  that 
ancient,  mysterious  writing,  it  would  be  to  laugh. 
"Blessed,"  says  the  Bible,  "are  they  who  can  believe 
without  seeing ;"  and  the  Mormons  seem  to  have  been 
blessed  (or  cursed)  insomuch  as  they  have  believed 
without  thinking,  for,  if  they  thought— they  wouldn't 
be  Mormons. 

Many  years  ago,  in  Illinois,  lived  a  family  whom 
we  will  now  call  Smith.  They  were  hard-shelled  Pres- 
byterians. The  father  was  noted  as  a  Bible  student, 
and,  as  he  had  served  as  a  missionary  to  the  Indians 
and  made  himself  thoroughly  conversant  with  their 
fantastic  legends  and  customs,  was  counted  a  man  of 
great  learning,  and  so  authoritative  that  all  denomina- 
tions came  to  him  to  settle  doctrinal  disputes.  He  had 
a  large  family,  which  he  ruled  with  the  Bible  and  a 
rod.  They  all  went  in  for  learning,  and  the  eldest  boys 
were  sent  to  an  academy,  and  there  fell  in  with  a  young 
Bible  student  named  Ransom  Dunn,  who  afterward 
became  a  famous  preacher.  As  this  young  man  was 
weak  alike  on  funds  and  book  learning,  an  arrangement 

117 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

was  made  whereby  he  was  to  stay  in  the  family  and 
exchange  chores  for  such  teaching  as  Mr.  Smith  and 
his  sons  could  give  him.  About  this  time,  however, 
the  health  of  the  older  man  failed,  and,  realizing  from 
the  nature  of  his  malady  that  he  would  have  very  little 
more  time  to  live,  he  spent  almost  all  his  time  in  wri- 
ting. One  day  he  took  a  big  roll  of  manuscript,  closely 
written,  and  tied  about  with  leather  thongs,  to  his  wife 
and  told  her  that  there  was  written  on  those  pages  that 
which,  if  given  into  the  right  hands,  would  keep  her 
from  the  almshouse  after  he  was  gone. 

She  put  it  carefully  away  in  a  bureau  drawer  and 
thought  no  more  about  it  until  the  following  winter. 
The  evenings  being  long  and  often  dull,  she  brought 
it  out  and  bade  the  young  men  read  it  and  see  if  they 
could  discover  therein  anything  that  would  bring  in 
money  in  case  the  wolf  got  too  clamorous  at  the  door. 

They  began  reading  aloud,  with  many  stops  for 
argument  and  much  searching  of  the  Bible  for  the  au- 
thority for  some  startling  facts. 

Some  of  these  they  traced  to  the  book  and  others  to 
the  Indian  legends.  It  was  very  interesting,  and  the 
younger  children  often  sat  up  late  at  night  to  listen  to 
the  reading  and  the  discussions  of  the  new  religion  out- 
lined in  the  writing  of  their  father. 


This  same  winter,  near  the  "breaking  up"  of  the 
spring,  there  came  to  this  hamlet  a  young  man  named 
Joseph  Smith,  who  said  he  was  a  prophet  of  God. 
Now,  these  young  men  went  to  see  him,  and  being,  as 
has  been  stated,  somewhat  long  on  learning,  told  the 
prophet  that  he  needed  a  little  more  educating.     It  is 

Ii8 


RISE  OF  THE  MORMONS. 

said  that  he  and  some  of  his  followers  were  told  the 
story  of  the  wonderful  manuscript  then  in  their  pos- 
session, and  that  the  prophet  went  to  their  home  and 
they  to  his  little  meeting-house,  built  on  planks  across 
the  creek,  as  no  one  was  willing  to  allow  the  new  re- 
ligion to  be  taught  on  his  soil. 

Spring  opened  and  with  its  budding  came  the  annual 
need  of  cleaning  house.  When  the  widow  went  to 
clear  out  the  bureau,  in  one  of  the  drawers  of  which 
was  kept  the  manuscript,  it  was  gone!  They  hunted 
both  high  and  low ;  they  minutely  questioned  each  of 
the  thirteen  children,  they  asked  the  young  man  named 
Ransom  Dunn  and  the  prophet  called  Joseph  Smith,  but 
no  trace  of  it  was  ever  found.  That  is,  no  trace  of  the 
original  manuscript,  but  it  is  alleged  by  the  one  living 
member  of  that  family,  who  now,  at  the  age  of  ninety- 
seven,  is  awaiting  her  summons  hence,  that  the  manu- 
script was  the  same,  and  the  doctrines  found  therein 
are  identical  with  those  which  her  father  had  written 
in  whimsical  mood  the  winter  before  his  death,  and 
that  they  are  no  more  ancient  than  is  the  birth  of  that 
fantastic,  irrational  religion  called  Mormonism. 

This  old  lady  remembers  the  prophet  very  well. 
She  recalls  telling  him  that  she  would  not  want  to  go 
to  a  heaven  reached  by  walking  over  women's  hearts, 
and,  she  says,  from  the  isle  of  memory  drift  snatches  of 
conversation  held  between  those  people  who  are  now 
only  a  name,  and  from  that  far-away  isle  she  is  carry- 
ing an  impression  to  the  shore  of  eternity  that  the 
church  which  calls  itself  the  Latter-day  Church  of 
Jesus  Christ  stole  a  manuscript  written  by  her  father 
the  winter  before  the  prophet,  Joseph  Smith,  came  to 
Illinois. 

119 


XIII. 
THE  OATH  OF  VENGEANCE. 


Mysteries  of  the  Endowment  House  and  Oath  of 
Vengeance  of  the  Mormon  Church,  as  Testified  to 
by  Professor  Walter  Wolfe,  Late  of  the  B.  Y. 
College  at  Logan,  and  the  Whole  Endowment 
Ceremony,  as  Sworn  to  by  Him  at  Washington, 
on  Wednesday,  February  7,  1906,  Before  the  Sen- 
ate Committee  on  Privileges  and  Elections,  in  Its 
Hearing  in  the  Smoot  Case. 


On  entering  the  annex  to  the  Temple  the  candidate 
is  ushered  into  a  room  on  the  right,  where  he  presents 
his  "recommend,"  which  must  be  signed  by  his  ward 
bishop  and  by  the  president  of  the  stake  from  which 
he  comes.  With  the  presenting  of  his  "recommend" 
he  is  expected  to  make  a  contribution  toward  the  Tem- 
ple services,  although  this  is  voluntary  with  him. 

From  this  room  he  passes  to  another  on  the  left, 
where  he  gives  his  records  and  receives  the  name  of 
the  one  for  whom  he  is  to  work  in  case  he  has  no  re- 
lation of  his  own  whom  he  wishes  to  save. 

The  records  being  attended  to,  the  prayer-room  is 
next  entered.  About  the  walls  of  this  room  are  the 
pictures  of  the  president  and  apostles  of  the  church. 
A  raised  stand  at  one  end  of  the  room  accommodates 

120 


h*M'^^^ 


I'kTti:-^.    .*,*.j«." 


r^-.^«^«i««feii^-K'  -j:l 


THE  MORMON  TEMPLE  AT  SALT  LAKE   CITY.   VTAll.— Page   uo. 


THE  OATH  OF  VENGEANCE. 

those  who  preside  and  who  instruct  the  candidates.  Be- 
fore entering  the  prayer-room  the  candidates  remove 
their  shoes.  This  is  usually  done  in  the  long,  covered 
passageway  that  leads  from  the  annex  to  the  Temple 
proper.  The  services  are  very  simple,  consisting 
usually  of  the  singing  of  two  hymns,  some  remarks, 
and  prayer. 

As  soon  as  the  exercises  are  finished,  all  proceed  to 
the  dressing-rooms,  except  those  men  who  are  to  re- 
ceive endowment  for  the  dead.  Those  pass  into  the 
back  part  of  the  prayer-room,  and  some  of  the  regu- 
lar Temple  workers  go  to  each   candidate,  lay  their 

hands  on  his  head,  and   say:    "Brother  ,  in  the 

name  of  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  and  by  the  authority  of 
the  holy  Melchisedec  priesthood,  I  ordain  you  an  elder 
in  the  Church  of  Jesus  Christ  of  Latter-day  Saints,  for 
and  in  behalf  of ,  who  is  dead." 

IN    THE   DRESSING-ROOM. 

In  the  dressing-room  all  clothing  is  removed  except- 
ing the  garments,  and  these  are  taken  off  and  handed 
to  one  of  the  attendants  as  the  candidate  enters  the 
bathtub.  The  man  who  attends  to  the  washing  rubs 
the  head,  the  eyes,  the  ears,  the  mouth,  the  lips,  the 
breast,  the  vitals,  the  loins,  the  legs,  and  the  feet.  This 
being  done,  the  candidate  leaves  the  tub,  is  hurriedly 
wiped  dry,  and  then  mounts  a  stool,  where  he  is 
anointed  with  oil  poured  from  a  ram's  horn,  the  same 
parts  being  anointed  that  were  washed  just  previously. 
He  then  stands  while  a  man  places  his  garments  over 
his  shoulders,  telling  him  that  these  garments  are  a 
pattern  of  those  which  the  Lord  gave  to  Adam  in  the 
Garden  of  Eden;  telling  him  further  that  they  must 

121 


THE  REVELATION  IN  THE  MOUNTAIN. 

not  be  removed,  and  that  they  will  prove  a  protection 
in  time  of  danger.  With  the  garments  he  whispers 
into  the  candidate's  ear  a  new  name — usually  one  taken 
from  the  Bible — and  he  is  instructed  never  to  reveal 
this  name  to  any  person  except  as  it  may  be  required 
at  one  point  during  the  Temple  ceremony.  If  he  is 
working  for  the  dead,  he  is  informed  that  when  he  is 
through  the  Temple  ceremony  the  name  may  be  for- 
gotten, as  it  is  the  property  of  the  dead  and  not  his 
own. 

The  candidate  then  goes  back  to  the  dressing-room, 
where  he  puts  on  a  shirt  and  a  pair  of  white  pants ; 
also  white  stockings.  He  carries  with  him  a  bundle 
containing  robes,  cape,  sandals,  and  apron. 

IN    CREATION-ROOM. 

He  then  goes  to  the  creation-room,  where  the  men 
are  seated  on  the  right,  the  women  on  the  left.  The 
delay  here  is  long  and  tedious,  as  the  walls  are  bare 
and  the  ceremony  of  washing  and  anointing  takes  a 
long  time,  if  there  happen  to  be  more  candidates. 

At  length  the  silence  is  broken,  and  a  man  enters  a 
door  in  the  front  of  the  room  dressed  in  white  flannel 
and  representing  Elohim,  the  greatest  of  the  Mormon 
deities.  He  makes  the  statement  that  any  who  wish 
to  retire  may  do  so ;  that  everything  which  is  heard  and 
seen  is  to  be  kept  a  profound  secret — that  which  has 
been  already  passed  through  as  well  as  that  which  is  to 
come.    Seeing  none  who  wish  to  retire,  he  continues : 

''Brethren,  you  have  been  washed  and  pronounced 
clean ;  that  is,  clean  from  the  blood  and  sins  of  this 
generation.  You  have  been  anointed  that  you  may  be- 
come kings  and  priests  to  our  God  and  His  Christ;  not 

122 


THE  OATH  OF  VENGEANCE. 

that  you  have  been  anointed  kings  and  priests,  but  that 
you  may  become  such;  this  will  depend  upon  your 
faithfulness. 

"You,  sisters,  have  been  washed  and  anointed  that 
you  may  become  queens  and  priestesses  to  your  lords ; 
that  is,  your  husbands. 

THREE  VOICES  HEARD. 

"You  will  now  hear  three  voices — Elohim,  Jehovah, 
and  Michael.  Now,  give  your  attention  and  hear  what 
you  shall  hear." 

Elohim  disappears,  and  immediately  his  voice  is 
heard  from  a  remote  part  of  the  adjacent  room : 

Elohim — Jehovah  and  Michael,  there  is  matter  un- 
organized. Let  us  go  down  and  make  a  world  like 
unto  the  other  worlds  we  have  created. 

Jehovah  and  Michael — We  v/ill  go  down. 

It  is  evident,  then,  that  Elohim  remains  in  the  celes- 
tial world,  while  Jehovah  and  Michael  have  to  do  with 
the  creation  of  this.  The  work  is  carried  on  in  strict 
accordance  with  the  account  as  given  in  Genesis.  At 
the  end  of  each  day  Jehovah  says  to  Michael:    "We 

will  go  down  and  report  this,  the  labor  of  the  

day."  Michael  replied :  "We  will  return  and  report." 
They  then  retire  to  the  back  part  of  the  room  and 
address  Elohim,  telling  him  what  they  have  done,  and 
get  assigned  their  duties  for  the  next  day. 

After  the  completion  of  the  work,  Elohim,  Jehovah, 
and  Michael  enter  throus^h  the  door  at  which  Elohim 
had  entered  before.  Michael  takes  a  chair,  while  Elo- 
him and  Jehovah  stand  on  either  side. 

Elohim— See  the  earth  that  we  have  made.  There 
is  no  man  in  it  to  till  the  ground. 

123 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 
Jehovah — Let  us  make  a  man  in  our  own  image. 

HE  FALLS  ASLEEP. 

Elohim  and  Jehovah  then  pass  their  hands  over 
Michael's  body,  breathe  on  him,  and  he  falls  asleep. 

Elohim  (to  the  audience) — This  man  who  is  being 
operated  on  is  Michael.  When  he  awakes  he  will  have 
forgotten  everything  and  become  as  a  little  child  and 
will  be  known  as  Adam. 

Whereupon  Adam  awakes. 

Elohim — It  is  not  good  for  man  to  be  alone. 

Jehovah — It  is  not  good,  for  we  are  not  alone. 

Elohim — We  will  cause  a  deep  sleep  to  fall  upon 
Adam  and  make  for  him  a  woman  to  be  with  him. 

The  male  part  of  the  audience  are  then  told  to  close 
their  eyes,  to  imitate  Adam's  sleep.  While  Adam  sleeps 
Eve  enters  and  stands  beside  him.  Elohim  wakens 
Adam  and  says : 

Elohim — Adam,  see  the  woman  we  have  created  for 
you.    What  will  you  call  her? 

Adam — Eve. 

Elohim — Why  Eve? 

Adam — Because  she  is  the  mother  of  all  living. 

Elohim  (to  Jehovah)— We  will  plant  a  garden  east- 
ward in  Eden,  and  there  we  will  put  the  man  whom  we 
have  made. 

Elohim  (to  the  audience) — The  brethren  will  now 
follow  Adam,  and  the  sisters  will  follow  Eve. 

IN   GARDEN    OF   EDEN. 

All  go  up  one  flight  of  stairs  to  the  Garden  of  Eden. 
The  sides  of  this  wall  are  paitited  to  represent  a  tropical 
scene,    and   birds   and  beasts   seem   to  be  at  perfect 

124 


THE  OATH  OF  VENGEANCE. 

peace  with  each  other.  At  one  end  of  the  room  is  the 
altar,  and  behind  this  an  elevator,  on  which  the  gods 
descend  and  ascend.  Near  the  front  and  to  the  left 
of  the  altar  as  the  audience  faces  it  is  the  Tree  of 
Knowledge  of  Good  and  Evil. 

Elohim  and  Jehovah  are  both  present.  Elohim  ad- 
dresses Adam: 

Elohim— Adam,  you  see  the  garden  we  have  planted 
for  you.  Of  all  the  trees  of  the  garden  you  may  surely 
eat  except  the  Tree  of  Knowledge  of  Good  and  Evil. 
Ye  shall  not  eat  of  it,  neither  shall  ye  touch  it,  lest  ye 
die.  Now,  be  happy  and  enjoy  yourselves.  We  go 
away,  but  we  shall  return. 

Elohim  and  Jehovah  then  ascend  in  the  elevator  m 
sight  of  the  audience. 

Adam  (to  audience)— Now,  brethren,  calm  your 
minds  and  be  not  surprised  at  anything  you  shall  see 
or  hear ;  we  shall  be  visited  soon. 

Enter  Devil,  from  back  room,  usually  wearing  a 
silk  hat,  carrying  a  cane,  and  having  on  a  Masonic 
apron,  with  the  pillars  surmounted  by  the  balls. 

Devil— Adam,  you  have  a  nice  world  here,  patterned 
after  the  world  where  we  used  to  live. 

Adam— I  do  not  remember  about  any  other  world. 

Devil— Oh,  I  see  you  have  not  got  your  eyes  opened 

Goes  to  the  tree,  from  which  he  pretends  to  pluck 
fruit,  which  he  offers  to  Adam. 

Devil— Here,  Adam,  take  some  of  the  fruit  of  this 

tree. 

Adam — I  shall  not  partake. 

I3evil— Oh,  you  won't,  won't  you?  \yell,  we  shall 
see.    Eve,  will  you  take  some  of  this  fruit? 

125 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

Eve — Who  are  you? 

Devil — I  am  your  brother. 

Eve — You  my  brother,  and  come  to  tempt  me  to 
disobey  my  father? 

Devil — I  said  nothing  about  father.  This  will  open 
your  eyes,  and  you  v^^ill  know  good  from  evil,  virtue 
from  vice,  etc. 

Eve — Is  there  no  other  way? 

Devil — There  is  not. 

EVE  TASTES  THE  FRUIT. 

(Eve  then  tastes  the  fruit,  and  Adam  approaches.) 

Devil — Now  go  and  get  Adam  to  partake. 

Eve — I  know  thee  now ;  thou  are  Lucifer,  who  was 
cast  out  of  heaven  for  his  rebellion. 

Devil — Oh,  I  see  you  are  beginning  to  get  your  eyes 
opened  already. 

Eve — Adam,  here  is  some  of  the  fruit  of  that  tree ; 
it  is  very  pleasant  to  the  taste  and  'very  desirable. 

Adam — I  shall  not  partake.  You  know  that  father 
commanded  us  not  to  touch  that  tree. 

Eve — Do  you  intend  to  obey  all  of  father's  com- 
mands ? 

Adam — Yes,  all  of  them. 

Eve — ^Well,  our  father  commanded  us  to  be  fruitful 
and  multiply  and  replenish  the  earth.  Now  I  have  par- 
taken of  the  fruit  and  shall  be  cast  out  of  the  garden, 
while  you  remain  a  lone  man  in  the  garden. 

Adam — Yes,  I  see.    I  will  partake  that  man  may  be. 

Devil  (nodding  his  head) — Yes,  that  is  right. 

(Elohim  appears.) 

Elohim — Adam,  where  are  thou  ?  Adam,  where  are 
thou? 

126 


THE  OATH  OF  VENGEANCE, 

ADAM   CONCEALS  HIMSELF. 

(Adam,  in  the  meantime,  had  conveniently  concealed 
himself  near  the  tree.) 

Adam — I  heard  thy  voice  as  I  was  walking  in  the 
garden,  but  I  was  ashamed  because  I  was  naked,  and 
I  hid  myself. 

Elohim — Who  told  thee  that  thou  wast  naked ;  hast 
thou  eaten  of  the  tree  that  I  commanded  thou  shouldst 
not  eat? 

Adam — The  woman  that  thou  gavest  to  be  with  me, 
she  gave  me  of  the  fruit  and  I  did  eat. 

Elohim — Eve,  what  have  you  been  doing? 

Eve — The  serpent  beguiled  me,  and  I  did  eat. 

Elohim — Lucifer,  what  have  you  been  doing  here? 

Devil — Oh,  the  same  as  we  have  been  doing  in  other 
worlds ;  I  gave  them  some  of  the  fruit  to  get  their  eyes 
open. 

Elohim  then  curses  Lucifer,  who  defies  him  by  say- 
ing: 

Devil — I  will  take  the  money  and  treasures  of  the 
earth  and  buy  up  popes  and  princes,  armies  and  navies, 
and  I  will  reign  with  blood  and  horror  in  the  earth. 

Elohim  then  drives  the  devil  away,  who  goes  out  of 
the  door  at  which  he  entered,  shaking  his  fist  and 
stamping  his  heels.  Adam  then  turns  to  the  audience 
and  says : 

Adam — In  your  bundles,  brethren  and  sisters,  you 
will  each  find  an  apron ;  please  put  it  on. 

When  the  request  has  been  complied  with,  Elohim 
says: 

Elohim — Let  Adam  be  cast  out  of  the  garden,  and 
a  cherubim  be  placed  with  a  flaming  sword  to  keep  the 
way  of  the  tree  of  life. 

127 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

As  the  elevator  rises  with  Elohim  and  Jehovah  on 
it,  a  sword  is  waved  through  the  curtain. 

Eve  now  stands  on  Adam's  left,  and  the  first  oath 
is  administered  by  Adam. 

One  couple  from  the  audience  kneel  at  the  altar  to 
represent  Adam  and  Eve,  and  all  present  participate 
in  the  ceremony.  The  audience  stands,  the  right  hand 
raised  to  the  square. 

FIRST    OATH    TAKEN. 

*'We  and  each  of  us  solemnly  bind  ourselves  that  we 
will  not  reveal  any  of  the  secrets  of  the  first  token  of 
the  Aaronic  priesthood,  with  its  accompanying  name, 
sign,  or  penalty.  Should  I  do  so,  I  agree  that  my 
throat  may  be  cut  from  ear  to  ear,  and  my  tongue 
torn  out  by  its  roots." 

The  name  of  this  token  is  the  new  name  of  the  can- 
didate, wdiich  he  received  when  he  w^as  given  his  gar- 
ments. 

Grip — The  grip  is  very  simple :  Hands  clasped, 
pressing  the  point  of  the  knuckle  of  the  index  finger 
with  the  thumb. 

Sign — In  executing  the  sign  of  the  penalty,  the 
right  hand,  palm  down,  is  placed  across  the  body,  so 
that  the  thumb  comes  directly  under  and  a  little  be- 
hind the  left  ear.  The  hand  is  then  drawn  sharply  to 
the  right  across  the  throat,  the  elbow  standing  out  at 
a  position  of  ninety  degrees  from  the  body,  the  hand 
is  then  dropped  from  the  square  to  the  side. 

Adam — The  brethren  will  now  follow  Adam,  and 
the  sisters  will  follow  Eve. 

IN   DESOLATE  WORLD. 

The  next  room,  the  "lone  and  desolate  world,"  has  its 
128 


THE  OATH  OF  VENGEANCE. 

walls  painted  with  scenes  very  different  from  those  of 
the  Garden  of  Eden ;  animals  are  fighting  and  the  scene 
is  one  of  chaos.  At  the  end  of  the  room  is  an  altar, 
behind  which  stands  Adam  and  Eve. 

When  Adam  was  cast  out  of  the  Garden  of  Eden  he 
built  an  altar  and  called  on  the  Lord,  saying : 

Adam — Oh,  Lord,  hear  the  words  of  my  mouth; 
oh,  Lord,  hear  the  words  of  my  mouth;  oh.  Lord, 
hear  the  words  of  my  mouth. 

As  Adam  speaks  these  words,  he  raises  his  hands, 
first  high  above  his  head,  then  to  the  square,  then  drops 
them  to  his  side.  The  words  used  are:  "Pale,  Ale, 
Ale."  We  are  told  that  in  the  pure  Adamic  language 
these  words  mean,  "Oh,  Lord,  hear  the  words  of  my 
mouth."  Adam,  when  asked  why  he  is  praying,  re- 
plies that  he  does  not  know,  only  he  has  been  so  in- 
structed. 

(Lucifer  enters.) 

LUCIFER  ON    THE  GROUND. 

Devil — I  hear  you  ;  what  do  you  want  ? 

Adam — ^Who  are  you  ? 

Devil — I  am  the  god  of  this  world. 

Adam — Who  made  you  the  god  of  this  world  ? 

Devil — I  made  myself.    What  is  it  you  want? 

Adam — I  was  calling  on  father. 

Devil — Oh,  I  see ;  you  want  religion.  I  will  have 
some  preachers  down  here  presently. 

(Enter  preacher.) 

Parson  (looking  around) — You  h?^^e  a  ver\*  fine 
congregation  here. 

Devil — Oh,  are  you  a  preacher? 

Parson — Yes. 

129 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

Devil — Ever  been  to  college  and  studied  the  dead 
languages  ? 

Parson — Why,  certainly.  No  man  can  preach  the 
gospel  unless  he  has  been  to  college  and  studied  the 
dead  languages. 

Devil — If  you  will  preach  to  this  congregation  and 
convert  them,  mind  you,  I  v^ill  give  you — let  me  see — 
four  thousand  dollars  a  year. 

PARSON   SINGS   HYMN. 

Parson — That  is  very  little,  but  I  will  do  the  best 
I  can. 

The  parson  then  opens  a  hymn-book  and  leads  in  a 
hymn,  while  the  devil  prances  around  with  a  com- 
placent air.  After  the  singing  the  parson  turns  to 
Adam  and  says : 

Parson — Do  you  believe  in  the  great  spirit  who 
dwells  beyond  the  bounds  of  time  and  space,  and  sits 
on  the  top  of  a  topless  throne ;  who  is  so  great  that 
he  can  fill  the  universe,  yet  is  so  small  that  he  can 
dwell  in  your  heart,  whose  center  is  everywhere  and 
whose  circumference  nowhere? 

Adam — No ;  I  do  not  believe  a  word  of  it. 

Parson — I  am  very  sorry  for  you.  But  perhaps  you 
believe  in  hell,  that  great,  bottomless  pit,  which  is  full 
of  fire  and  brimstone,  into  which  the  wicked  are  cast, 
and  where  they  are  ever  burning  and  yet  never  con- 
sumed? 

Adam — No ;  I  do  not,  and  I  am  sorry  for  you. 

The  voices  of  the  gods  are  now  heard  from  an  upper 
room. 

Elohim  (to  Jehovah) — The  man  Adam  seems  to  be 
true  and  faithful;  let  us  send  down  to  him  Peter, 
James,  and  John. 

130 


THE  OATH  OF  VENGEANCE. 

Jehovah — That  is  good. 

Elohim  (to  Peter,  James,  and  John) — Go  down  to 
Adam,  who  seems  to  be  a  good  and  faithful  man. 

(Peter,  Jam.es  and  John  descend  by  a  stairway  at 
the  rear  of  the  room.) 

Peter — Hello  !     What  is  going  on  here  ? 

Devil — We  are  making  religion. 

Peter — What  are  you  making  it  out'of  ? 

Devil — Newspapers,  novels,  and  notions  of  men  and 
women  sugared  over'with  a  little  religion. 

Peter— jHow  does  it  take  with  this  congregation? 

Devil — Pretty  well,  all  except  that  man  Adam;  he 
does  not  believe  anything. 

Peter  (to  Adam) — Good  morning. 

Peter — (taking  Adam's  hand) — What  is  that? 

Adam — The  first  token  of  the  Aaronic  priesthood. 

Peter — Will  you  give  it  to  me? 

CANNOT  GIVE  TOKEN. 

Adam — I  cannot,  for  it  is  connected  with  my  new 
name;  but  this  is  the  same  sign. 

(Peter. answers  by  the  same  sign.) 

Adam — You  are  a  true  messenger  of  Father. 

Peter — What  do  you  think  of  the  preaching  of  the 
parson  this  morning  ? 

Adam — Why,  he  asked  me  if  I  believed  in  that 
Great  Spirit  who  dwells  beyond  the  bounds  of  time  and 
space  and  sits  on  top  of  a  topless  throne ;  who  Is  so 
great  that  he  fills  the  universe,  yet  so  small  that  he  can 
dwell  in  your  heart ;  whose  center  is  everywhere  and 
circumference  nowhere.  I  told  him  I  did  not  believe 
a  word  of  it. 

Peter — I  do  not  blame  you. 

131 


THE  REVELATION  IN  THE  MOUNTAIN. 

Parson — Are  you  the  apostles  of  the  Lord  Jesus 
Christ? 

Peter — We  are. 

Parson  (pointing  to  the  Devil) — Why,  he  said  that 
we  were  to  have  no  more  apostles,  but  if  any  man  came 
along  professing  to  be  such,  I  was  to  ask  them  to  cut 
off  an  arm  or  a  leg,  or  some  other  member  of  the  body, 
and  stick  it  on  again,  just  to  show  they  had  come  with 
power. 

Peter — A  wicked  and  adulterous  generation  seeketh 
a  sign.    Do  you  know  that  man? 

Parson — Certainly ;  he  is  a  great  gentleman,  and 
stands  at  the  head  of  all  the  religious  denominations 
of  to-day. 

Peter — Why,  that  is  Lucifer. 

Parson — What!  the  Devil? 

Peter — Yes,  I  believe  that  is  one  of  his  names.  You 
should  get  out  of  his  service  and  have  a  settlement  with 
him. 

Parson — If  I  get  out  of  his  service,  what  is  to  be- 
come of  me? 

Peter — Why,  we  will  teach  you  the  gospel  in  con- 
nection with  the  rest  of  the  sons  of  Adam. 

Parson — Well,  that  is  good. 

Parson  (turning  to  the  Devil) — Sir,  is  it  not  time 
we  had  a  settlement? 

Devil — Well,  I  will  keep  my  word.  I  offered  you 
four  thousand  dollars  per  year  to  convert  this  people, 
and,  by  what  I  can  see,  they  have  nearly  converted  you. 
Get  out  of  my  kingdom ;  I  do  not  want  such  men  in 
it. 

PARSON  RETIRES. 

(The  Parson  then   retires  by  a  back   door,  while 
132 


THE  OATH  OF  VENGEANCE. 

Peter,  James,  and  John  ascend  the  stairs  and  report  to 
Elohim  the  condition  of  the  man  Adam.) 

Elohim— Peter,  James,  and  John,  go  down  again  in 
your  true  characters  and  reveal  to  Adam  the  second 
token  of  the  Aaronic  priesthood,  and  place  the  robe 
upon  his  left  shoulder. 

(They  descend.) 

Peter— I  am  Peter. 

James— I  am  James. 

John— I  am  John. 

Devil  (scowling)— I  thought  I  knew  you. 

Peter  (to  Devil)— Begone! 

Devil — By  whose  authority? 

Peter  (raising  his  arm  to  the  square)— In  the  name 
of  Jesus  Christ,  my  IMaster. 

(The  Devil  disappears,  scowling  through  the  door 
where  the  minister  had  already  disappeared.) 

The  robes  are  then  taken  from  the  bundles  and  put 
on  the  candidates,  as  well  as  the  caps  and  sandals. 
Then  the  apron  is  replaced  and  the  oath  is  adminis- 
tered to  all,  standing : 

SECOND  OATH  ADMINISTERED. 

"We,  and  each  of  us,  do  solemnly  promise  and  bind 
ourselves  never  to  reveal  any  of  the  secrets  of  this 
priesthood,  with  its  accompanying  name,  sign,  grip,  or 
penalty.  Should  we  do  so,  we  agree  that  our  breasts 
may  be  torn  open,  our  hearts  and  vitals  torn  out  and 
given  to  the  birds  of  the  air  and  the  beasts  of  the  field." 

Sign—The  sign  is  made  by  extending  the  right  hand 
across  the  left  breast,  directly  over  the  heart;  then 
drawing  it  rapidly  from  left  to  right,  with  the^  elbow 
at  the  square ;  then  dropping  the  hand  by  the  side. 

133 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

Name — The  name  is  the  given  name  of  the  candi- 
date. 

Grip — Clasp  the  right  hand  and  place  the  thumb  into 
the  hollow  of  the  knuckle,  between  the  first  and  second 
fingers. 

(Again  the  brethren  follow  Adam  and  the  sisters 
Eve,  and  the  Celestial-room  is  entered.) 

IN    CELESTIAL-ROOM. 

This  room  is  divided  into  two  parts  by  white  cur- 
tains, through  which  there  are  several  openings.  Some 
of  these  are  simply  openings  for  convenience,  but  oth- 
ers have  a  significance  in  which  the  candidates  are 
afterward  instructed,  for  it  is  through  these  curtains 
that  the  candidates  must  pass  to  gain  their  exaltation. 
In  front  of  the  curtains  is  a  raised  platform,  some 
three  or  four  steps  above  the  general  level,  and  on  thf 
platform  the  candidates  wait,  after  their  names  have 
been  called,  until  it  is  time  for  them  to  be  admitted  to 
the  Sealing-rooms. 

In  front  of  the  platform  and  on  the  general  level 
there  is  an  altar,  at  which  the  true  order  of  prayer  is 
taught.  As  soon  as  the  candidates  are  seated,  Elohim 
is  heard  speaking  to  Peter,  James,  and  John. 

Elohim — Go  down  to  Adam  and  give  him  the  first 
token  of  the  Melchisedec  priesthood,  and  place  the  robe 
upon  the  right  shoulder. 

They  go  down,  and  Peter  instructs  them  in  the 
changing  of  the  robe. 

After  this,  the  following  oath  is  administered  to  all, 
standing : 

THIRD    OATH. 

"You,  and  each  of  you,  do  covenant  and  promise  that 
134 


THE  OATH  OF  VENGEANCE. 

you  will  never  reveal  any  of  the  secrets  of  the  priest- 
hood, with  its  accompanying  name,  sign,  and  penalty. 
Should  you  do  so,  you  agree  that  your  body  may  be 
cut  asunder  and  all  your  bowels  gush  out." 

In  this,  the  left  hand  is  placed  palm  upright,  directly 
in  front  of  the  body,  there  being  a  right  angle  formed 
at  the  elbow ;  the  right  hand,  palm  down,  is  placed 
under  the  elbow  of  the  left ;  then  drawn  sharply  across 
the  bowels,  and  both  hands  are  dropped  at  the  side. 

Name — The  Son. 

Sign — The  sign  is  pressing  with  the  forefinger  and 
thumb  the  palm  and  back  of  the  hand  of  the  recipient 
of  the  Grip.    This  is  called  the  "Sign  of  the  Nail." 

Peter,  James,  and  John  return  to  Elohim,  report,  and 
come  back  to  the  audience. 

Peter — The  brethren,  all  standing,  will  receive  the 
second  grip  of  the  Melchidesec  priesthood. 

Grip — Grasp  right  hands  so  that  the  little  fingers 
are  interlocked  and  the  forefinger  presses  into  the  wrist. 

(This  is  called  the  patriarchal  grip  or  true  sign  of 
the  nail.) 

Tradition  says  that  when  the  Savior  was  crucified 
the  nail  tore  out  the  palm  of  his  hand,  so  that  they 
had  to  put  another  through  the  wrist. 

It  has  its  accompanying  name  and  penalty,  and  here 
are  given  the  three  important  obligations: 

''law  of  sacrifice." 

Obligation. 

Peter — You  and  each  of  you  do  covenant  and  prom- 
ise that  you  will  sacrifice  your  time,  talents,  and  prop- 
erty to  the  upbuilding  of  the  Church  of  Jesus  Christ  of 
Latter-day  Saints.    All  bow  your  heads  and  say  yes. 

135 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

''law  of  chastity." 

To  the  Men. 

Peter — You  and  each  of  you  do  covenant  and  prom- 
ise that  you  will  not  have  sexual  intercourse  with  any 
other  than  your  lawful  wife  or  wives,  who  may  be 
given  you  by  the  priesthood.  All  bow  your  heads  and 
say  yes. 

To  the  Women. 

Peter — You  and  each  of  you  covenant  and  promise 
that  you  will  not  have  sexual  intercourse  with  any  per- 
son of  the  opposite  sex  save  those  who  may  have  been 
given  you  by  the  priesthood. 

''law  of  vengeance."" 

Peter — You  and  each  of  you  covenant  and  agree 
that  you  will  pray,  and  never  cease  to  pray.  Almighty 
God  to  avenge  the  blood  of  the  prophets  upon  this 
nation ;  and  that  you  will  teach  the  same  to  your  chil- 
dren unto  the  third  and  fourth  generation.  All  bow 
your  heads  and  say  yes. 

(All  having  been  seated,  Elohim,  or  some  one  in 
authority,  comes  to  the  front  of  the  platform  and  de- 
livers what  is  known  as  the  sermon  before  the  veil.  On 
Wednesdays,  when  there  are  a  number  of  neophytes, 
the  address  is  very  long  and  tedious ;  the  entire  history 
of  the  Temple  work  is  repeated,  so  that  the  candidates 
may  have  a  clear  understanding  of  what  they  have 
learned.  The  marks  in  the  veil  are  also  explained, 
with  their  significance  and  uses.  Especially  is  it  taught 
that  Adam  was  not  made  out  of  the  dust  of  this  earth ; 
that  he  was  begotten  as  any  other  man  is  begotten,  and 
that  when  he  came  here  he  brought  Eve,  one  of  his 

136 


THE  OATH  OF  VENGEANCE. 

wives,  with  him.  I  have  heard  that  the  sermon  was 
the  one  dehvered  by  Brigham  Young  at  the  dedication 
of  the  St.  George  Temple.  On  Thursdays  and  Fridays, 
when  there  are  comparatively  few  who  are  going 
through  the  Temple  for  the  first  time,  the  sermon  be- 
fore the  veil  is  very  much  shortened,  only  the  essential 
part  which  refers  to  the  creation  of  Adam  being  read.) 

INSTRUCTED    AS   TO    PFLWER. 

After  the  sermon,  the  candidates  are  instructed  in 
the  true  order  of  prayer,  as  many  couples  as  possible 
surrounding  the  altar,  the  elder  who  is  to  pray  standing 
behind  it.  The  signs  of  the  holy  priesthood  are  then 
given,  the  last  one  being  the  uplifted  hands,  and  the 
words  'Tale,  Ale,  x-\le,"  repeated  three  times,  in  imita- 
tion of  Adam's  prayer.  All  stop  with  the  patriarchal 
grip,  the  left  elbow  of  one  person  resting  upon  the 
right  shoulder  of  the  next  one.  In  this  way  the  circle 
is  made  complete. 

The  elder  now  kneels  by  the  altar,  his  right  arm 
raised  to  the  square,  his  left  hand  extending,  palm  up, 
"as  though  to  receive  a  blessing." 

A  form  of  prayer  is  then  oflFered,  which  sen-es  as  a 
type  for  similar  prayers  in  every  prayer  circle  of  the 
IMormon  priesthood. 

PAS5IXG  THROUGH   THE  VEIL. 

The  candidates  resume  their  seats  and  the  process 
of  passing  through  the  veil  begins. 

In  the  veil  are  to  be  seen  the  square  and  compass; 
also  other  openings  which  represent  the  slits  in  the 
knees  of  every  garment,  which  are  said  to  indicate  that 
tlie  time  will  come  when  every  knee  shall  bow  and 

^Z7 


THE  REVELATION  IN  THE  MOUNTAIN. 

every  tongue  confess  that  Jesus  is  the  Christ.  There 
are  also  openings  for  the  hands,  which  are  called  open- 
ings of  convenience. 

Three  or  four  candidates  come  from  behind  the  veil 
— men  to  act  for  men  and  women  for  women.  The 
name  of  the  candidate  is  called.  He  rises  from  his  seat 
in  the  audience,  accompanied  by  the  woman  or  women 
whom  he  has  brought  with  him,  mounts  the  platform, 
and  takes  his  seat  until  the  attendants  are  ready  for  his 
turn.  In  going  up  the  three  steps  of  the  platform  the 
man  must  always  precede.  I  once  saw  a  young  man 
step  courteously  aside  to  let  his  intended  bride  pre- 
cede him,  when  the  attendant  pushed  her  back  and  told 
him  that  if  she  preceded  him  there  she  would  precede 
him  in  eternity. 

VEIL   IS  PARTED. 

All  being  ready,  the  attendant  gives  three  gavel  raps 
upon  one  of  the  pillars  from  which  the  veil  is  sus- 
pended. The  veil  is  parted  slightly  and  Elohim  from 
behind  the  veil  asks  what  is  wanted.  The  attendant 
replies :  'The  man  Adam,  having  been  true  and  faith- 
ful in  all  things,  desires  to  converse  with  the  Lord  be- 
hind the  veil."  The  attendant  prompts  the  candidate 
in  his  answers  and  grips,  sometimes  rehearsing  the 
whole  matter  before  Elohim  takes  the  neophyte  in  hand. 

The  neophyte  gives  the  two  grips  of  the  Aaronic 
priesthood,  with  their  accompanying  name,  also  the  first 
grip  and  name  of  the  Melchisedec  priesthood.  He  then 
gives  the  second  grip  of  the  Melchisedec  priesthood. 

Elohim — What  is  this  ? 

Neophyte — The  second  Grip  of  the  Melchisedec 
priesthood.  Patriarchal  Grip,  or  Sure  Sign  of  the 
Nail. 

138 


THE  OATH  OF  VENGEANCE. 

Elohim — Has  it  a  name  ? 

Neophyte — It  has. 

Elohim — Will  you  give  it  to  me? 

Neophyte — I  cannot,  for  I  have  not  yet  received  it ; 
for  this  purpose  I  have  come  to  converse  with  the  Lord 
behind  the  veil. 

Elohim — You  shall  receive  it  upon  the  five  points  of 
fellowship  through  the  veil.  These  are :  foot  to  foot, 
knee  to  knee,  breast  to  breast,  hand  to  back,  and  mouth 
to  ear. 

WHISPERS   TO   CANDIDATE. 

Having  placed  the  candidate  in  proper  position,  he 
whispers : 

''Health  in  the  navel,  marrow  in  the  bones,  strength 
in  the  loins  and  sinews,  and  power  in  the  priesthood  be 
upon  me  and  my  posterity  through  all  generations  of 
time  and  throughout  eternity." 

The  neophyte  repeats  this  until  he  has  it  perfectly, 
and  then  stands  back,  while  the  attendant  raps  once 
more  three  times  upon  the  pillar. 

Elohim — What  is  wanted  ? 

Attendant— Adam,  having  conversed  with  the  Lord 
through  the  veil,  now  desires  to  be  admitted  to  His 
presence. 

Elohim — Admit  him. 

As  he  says  this,  Elohim  extends  his  hand  and  gives 
the  novitiate  a  warm  welcome. 

The  man  now  assumes  the  part  of  Elohim  and  in- 
structs his  women,  even  as  he  has  been  instructed  him- 
self, admitting  them  behind  the  veil  when  they  are 
prepared. 

HANDSOMEST    ROOM    IN   THE  TEMPLE. 

The  room  which  is  now  entered  is  one  of  the  most 
139 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

beautiful  in  the  Temple ;  it  has  rich  carpets,  elegant  fit- 
tings and  upholstery,  and  opening  from  it  are  the 
Sealing-rooms — small,  and  furnished  in  gold  and  white. 

In  the  main  room  is  a  table  at  which  sits  the  re- 
corder, having  before  him  the  records  of  those  who 
have  just  been  through  the  Temple,  and  also  the  li- 
censes of  those  who  have  taken  out  the  document  which 
is  required  by  the  laws  of  the  State  before  a  marriage 
ceremony  can  be  performed. 

The  man  and  the  woman  who  are  to  be  married 
then  pass  into  the  Sealing-room,  with  such  invited 
guests  as  they  may  desire  to  have  with  them.  They  are 
dressed  in  the  Temple  robes  complete. 

IN  SEALING-ROOM. 

In  the  middle  of  the  Sealing-room  is  an  altar  of 
white,  having  on  it  a  white  velvet  cushion,  and  on  each 
side  of  it  are  kneeling-stools.  Sitting  opposite  one 
end  of  the  table  is  the  man  who  performs  the  sealing 
ceremony,  usually  the  president  or  acting  president  of 
the  Temple.  On  each  side  of  him  is  a  witness.  These 
three  men  are  clothed  in  white  suits,  the  same  that  they 
have  been  wearing  through  the  Temple  ceremonies. 
The  candidates  now  kneel,  one  on  each  side  of  the  altar, 
and  clasp  their  hands  in  the  Patriarchal  Grip.  The 
presiding  elder  asks  them  if  they  take  each  other  for 
man  and  wife,  for  time  and  eternity,  and,  having  re- 
ceived a  satisfactory  answer,  unites  and  blesses  them 
for  time  and  eternity,  promising  a  numerous  posterity 
and  all  the  blessings  in  the  celestial  kingdom  that  rea- 
sonable people  could  desire. 

This  being  finished,  they  are  told  to  kiss  each  other 
across  the  altar.     They  then  unclasp  hands,  and  the 

140 


THE  OATH  OF  VENGEANCE. 

ceremony  is  completed.  They  return  to  their  dressing- 
rooms,  put  on  the  clothing  that  they  wore  to  the  Tem- 
ple, and  the  day's  work  is  over. 


Professor  Wolfe  has  just  told  of  the  ritual,  the 
oath,  and  the  ceremonies  in  the  Mormon  Temple.  It 
was  a  most  interesting  s-tory.  It  confirms  in  remark- 
able degree  an  expose  of  the  ceremonies  in  the  Endow- 
ment House  of  many  years  ago,  as  printed  by  The 
Tribune,  and  also  President  Smith's  testimony  that 
there  had  been  no  change  in  the  proceedings.  The  old 
Endowment  House  expose  is  as  follows : 

The  Mormon  Endowment  House  is  a  plain  adobe 
building,  two  stories  high,  built  like  a  small  dwelling- 
house,  so  as  not  to  attract  attention.  There  are  blinds 
to  all  the  windows,  which  are  nearly  always  kept  down. 
It  is  situated  in  the  northwest  corner  of  the  Temple 
block  (which  includes  the  Tabernacle,  New  Temple, 
etc.),  and  the  whole  block  is  surrounded  by  a  very  high 
wall. 

On  a  certain  day,  not  necessary  to  mention,  I  went  to 
the  Endowment  House  at  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
taking  with  me  my  endowment  clothes  (consisting  of 
garments,  robe,  cap,  apron,  and  moccasins).  I  be- 
lieve people  used  to  take  their  own  oil,  but  that  is  now 
discontinued,  as  fees  are  charged.  I  went  into  a  small 
room  attached  to  the  main  building  (designated  in  the 
plan  by  the  name  of  Reception-room),  which  was 
crowded  with  men  and  women,  having  their  bundles  of 
clothing.  The  entrance  door  is  on  the  east  side,  and 
in  the  southwest  corner  there  is  another,  next  to  which 

141 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

the  desk  stood,  where  the  clerk  recorded  the  names,  etc. 
Around  the  north  and  west  sides  were  benches  for  the 
people  to  sit. 

On  going  up  to  the  desk  I  presented  my  recommend 
from  the  bishop  in  whose  ward  I  was  staying,  and 
George  Reynolds,  who  was  then  acting  as  clerk,  asked 
me  my  name,  those  of  my  parents,  when  and  where 
I  was  born,  and  when  I  was  baptized  into  the  Mormon 
Church. 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

That  over,  he  told  me  to  leave  my  hat,  cloak,  and 
shoes  in  that  room;  and,  taking  up  my  bundle,  I  went 
into  the  room  marked  3  on  the  plan,  where  I  sat  wait- 
ing my  turn  till  it  came  my  turn  to  be  washed. 

One  of  the  women,  an  officiating  high  priestess,  told 
me  to  come  behind  the  curtain  (which  I  have  indicated 
by  a  waving  line),  where  I  could  hear  a  great  deal  of 
splashing  and  subdued  conversation.  I  went,  and 
after  I  was  undressed  I  had  to  step  into  a  long  bath, 
about  half-full  of  water,  when  another  woman  proceed- 
ed to  wash  me.  I  objected  strongly  to  this  part  of  the 
business,  but  she  told  me  to  show  a  more  humble  spirit. 
However,  when  she  got  down  to  my  feet  she  let  me  go, 
and  I  was  turned  over  to  the  woman  who  had  spoken 
to  me  first,  and  whose  name  w^as  Bathsheba  Smith 
(one  of  the  widows  of  Apostle  George  A.  Smith).  She 
wore  a  large,  shiny  apron,  and  her  sleeves  tucked  up 
above  her  elbows.   She  looked  thoroughly  like  business. 

Another  woman  was  standing  beside  her  with  a  large 
wooden  spoon  and  some  green  olive  oil  in  a  cow's  horn. 
This  woman  poured  the  oil  out  of  the  spoon  into  Bath- 
sheba's  hand,  who  immediately  put  it  on  my  head,  ears, 
eyes,  mouth,  and  every  part  of  my  body,  and  as  she 
greased  me,  she  muttered  a  kind  of  prayer  over  each 
member  of  my  body :  My  head,  that  I  might  have 
a  knowledge  of  the  truths  of  God ;  my  eyes,  that  I 
might  see  the  glories  of  the  kingdom ;  my  mouth,  that 
I  might  at  all  times  speak  the  truth  ;  my  arms,  that  they 
miq-ht  be  strong  in  defense  of  the  gospel ;  my  bosom — 
and  here  I  must  ask  my  readers  not  to  think  I  want 
to  tell  this  part  of  the  story,  but  I  do  want  people  to 
know  the  truth,  and  how  disgusting  and  indelicate  this 
thing  is.    Mormon  people  deny  many  of  these  things, 

143 


THE  REVELATION  IN  THE  MOUNTAIN. 

and  civilized  and  decent  people  can  scarcely  realize 
that  this  institution  is  as  infamous  as  it  really  is,  but 
I  solemnly  assert  that  these  things  do  exist.  To  con- 
tinue :  My  bosom,  that  I  might  nourish  the  children 
whom  I  might  raise  by  my  husband  (I  was  not  then 
married,  but  expected  to  be),  and  another  part  of 
my  body  that  I  might  raise  up  a  goodly  seed,  that 
they  might  be  pillars  of  strength  to  the  upbuilding  and 
strengthening  of  God's  kingdom  upon  the  earth.  And 
so  she  got  down  to  my  feet,  when  she  hoped  they  might 
be  swift  in  the  paths  of  righteousness  and  truth. 

She  then  turned  me  over  to  the  woman  who  had 
washed  me,  and  who  whispered 

MY    NEW    AND    CELESTIAL    NAME 

in  my  ear.  I  believe  I  am  to  be  called  up  in  the  morn- 
ing of  the  resurrection  by  it.  It  was  "Sarah."  I  felt 
disappointed.  I  thought  I  should  have  received  a  more 
distinguished  name.  She  told  me  that  new  name  must 
never  be  spoken,  but  often  thought  of  to  keep  away 
evil  spirits.  I  should  be  required  to  speak  it  once 
that  day,  but  she  would  tell  me  in  what  part  of  the 
ceremony,  and  that  I  should  never  again  have  to  speak 
it.  She  then  told  me  to  put  on  my  garments.  These 
are  made  in  one  piece.  On  the  right  breast  is  a  square, 
on  the  left  a  compass,  in  the  center  a  small  hole,  and 
on  the  knee  a  large  hole,  which  is  called  the  "stone." 
We  were  told  that  as  long  as  we  kept  them  on  no 
harm  could  befall  us,  and  that  when  we  changed  them 
we  were  not  to  take  them  all  off  at  once,  but  slip  out  a 
limb  at  a  time  and  immediately  dive  into  the  clean  ones. 
The  neck  was  never  to  be  cut  low,  or  the  sleeves  short, 
as  that  would  be  patterning  after  the  fashion  of  the 
Gentiles. 

144 


THE  REVELATION  IN  THE  MOUNTAIN, 

After  this  I  put  on  my  clothes,  and,  in  my  stocking 
feet,  waited  with  those  who  were  washed  and  anointed 
until  she  had  finished  the  remaining  two  or  three.  This 
done,  the  little  calico  curtains  (marked  A  and  B)  were 
drawn  aside,  and  the  men  and  women  stood  revealed  to 
each  other.  The  men  looked  very  uncomfortable  and 
not  at  all  picturesque.  They  only  had  their  garments 
and  shirts  on,  and  they  really  did  seem  as  though  they 
were  ashamed  of  themselves,  as  well  they  might  be. 


APRON. 

(Worn  by  Men  and  Women.) 


Joseph  F.  Smith  then  came  to  where  we  were  all 
waiting,  and  told  us  that  if  we  wanted  to  "back  out, 
now  was  our  time,"  because  we  should  not  be  able 
afterward,  and  that  we  were  bound  to  go  right  through. 
All  those  who  wanted  to  go  through  were  to  hold  up 
their  hands,  which,  of  course,  every  one  did,  believing 
that  all  the  good  and  holy  things  that  were  to  be  seen 
and  heard  in  the  ''House  of  the  Lord"  were  yet  to 
come.  He  then  told  us  that  if  any  of  us  attempted  to 
reveal  what  we  saw  and  heard  in  the  ''House"  our 
memories  would  be  blighted,  and  we  should 

145 


THE  REVELATION  IN  THE  MOUNTAIN, 

BE  EVERLASTINGLY  DAMNED, 

for  they  were  things  too  holy  to  be  spoken  of  between 
each  other,  after  we  had  once  left  the  Endowment 
House.  We  were  then  told  to  be  very  quiet  and  listen. 
Joseph  F.  Smith  then  went  away. 

In  a  few  moments  we  heard  voices  talking  loudly  so 
that  the  people  could  hear  them  in  the  adjoining  room. 
(I  afterward  found  out  in  passing  through  that  it 
was  the  prayer  circle  room.)  It  was  supposed  to  be  a 
conversation  between  Elohim  (Head  God)  and  Je- 
hovah.    The  conversation  was  as  follows : 

Elohim  to  Jehovah — "Well,  Jehovah,  I  think  we  will 
create  an  earth ;  let  Michael  go  down  and  collect  all 
the  elements  together  and  found  one." 

Answer — ''Very  well,  O  Lord  God,  it  shall  be  done." 

Then,  calling  to  another  man,  we  could  hear  him 
say : 

''Michael,  go  down  and  collect  all  the  elements  to- 
gether and  form  an  earth,  and  then  report  to  us  what 
you  have  done." 

Answer — "Very  well,  O  Lord  God." 

The  man  they  called  Michael  then  left  the  prayer 
circle  room  and  came  through  the  room  they  called  the 
World,  into  the  Garden  of  Eden,  the  door  of  which  was 
shut  that  faced  the  places  C  and  D,  where  we  were 
standing,  listening  and  waiting.  He  remained  there  a 
second  or  two,  and  everything  was  quiet.  At  the  end 
of  that  time  we  heard  him  going  back  the  same  way, 
to  where  Elohim  and  Jehovah  were  waiting.  When  he 
got  back  he  said:  "fhave  collected  all  the  elements 
together  and  founded  an  earth ;  what  wouldst  thou 
have  me  do  next?"  Using  the  same  formula  every 
time  they  sent  him  down  to  the  world,  they  then  told 

146 


THE  REVELATION  IN  THE  MOUNTAIN. 

him  to  separate  the  land  from  the  water,  Hght  from 
darkness,  etc.,  and  so  they  went  regularly  through  the 
creation,  but  they  always  told  him  to  come  up  and  re- 
port what  he  had  done. 

When  the  creation  was  supposed  to  be  finished, 
Michael  went  back  and  told  them  it  was  very  fair  and 
beautiful  to  look  upon.  Elohim  then  said  to  Jehovah 
that  he  thought  they  had  better  go  down  and  have  a 
look  at  it,  which  they  did,  and  agreed  with  Michael 
that  it  was  a  beautiful  place ;  that  it  seemed  a  pity  that 
it  should  be  of  no  particular  use,  but  thought  it  would 
be  a  good  idea  to  create  man  to  live  in  it  and  cultivate 
these  things. 


DEVIL'S  APRON. 


They  then  came  out  of  the  Garden  of  Eden  (which 
was  supposed  to  have  been  newly  finished)  and,  shut- 
ting the  door  after  them,  came  to  where  we  were  stand- 
ing. We  were  then  told  to  shut  our  eyes,  and  Jehovah 
said  to  Michael :  "Give  me  a  handful  of  dust  and  I 
will  create  man."  We  were  then  told  to  open  our  eyes, 
and  we  saw  a  man  that  he  had  taken  from  the  crowd, 

147 


:i!!insi!!n!i!i85ii^n?!' 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

standing  beside  Jehovah,  and  to  whom  Jehovah  said : 
"I  shall  call  thee  Adam,  for  thou  shalt  be  called  the 
father  of  all  mankind."  Jehovah  then  said  it  was  not 
good  for  man  to  be  alone,  so  he  would  create  a  woman 
and  a  helpmate  for  him.  We  were  again  told  to  close 
our  eyes,  and  Adam  was  requested  to  go  to  sleep,  which 
he  obligingly  did.  Jehovah  was  then  supposed  to  take 
a  rib  from  Adam's  side  and  form  Eve.  We  were  then 
told  to  open  our  eyes  and  look  upon  the  handiwork 
of  the  Lord.  When  we  did,  we  saw  a  woman  taken 
from  among  the  crowd  who  was  standing  by  Adam's 
side.  Jehovah  said  he  would  call  the  woman  Eve, 
because  she  would  be  the  mother  of  all  mankind. 

THE   DOOR    OF   THE   GARDEN   OF   EDEN 

was  then  opened  and  all  marched  in  with  our  bundles 
(the  men  going  first,  as  they  always  take  precedence), 
and  we  ranged  ourselves  round  the  room  on  benches. 
The  four  sides  of  this  room  are  painted  in  imitation 
of  trees,  flowers,  birds,  wild  beasts,  etc.  (The  artist 
who  painted  the  room  was  evidently  more  acquainted 
with  whitewashing  than  painting.)  The  ceiling  was 
painted  blue,  dotted  over  with  golden  stars;  in  the 
center  of  it  was  the  sun,  a  little  further  along  the  moon, 
and  all  around  were  the  stars.  In  each  corner  was  a  ]\Ia- 
sonic  emblem.  In  one  corner  is  a  compass,  in  another 
the  square ;  the  remaining  two  were  the  level  and  the 
plumb.  On  the  east  side  of  the  room,  next  the  door, 
was  a  painted  apple-tree,  and  in  the  northern  part  of 
the  room  was  a  small  wooden  altar. 

After  we  had  seated  ourselves,  Jehovah  told  Adam 
and  Eve  that  they  could  eat  of  every  tree  in  the  garden 
except  of  this  particular  apple-tree,  for  on  the  day  that 
they  ate  of  that  they  should  surely  die. 

148 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

^    He  then  took  his  departure,  and  immediately  after 
in  came  a  very  Hvely  gentleman,  dressed  in  a  plain 
black  morning-suit,    with   a    little   apron    on,   a   most 
fiendish  expression  on  his  face,  and  joyfully  rubbing 
his  hands.     This  gentleman  was  supposed  to  be  "the 
Devil."     Certainly  his  appearance  made  the  supposi- 
tion quite  easy  (by  the  by,  I  have  since  seen  that  same 
gentleman  administering  the  Sacrament  in  the  Taber- 
nacle on  Sundays).    He  went  up  to  Eve  and  remarked 
that  it  was  a  beautiful  place,  and  that  the  fruit  was  so 
nice,  would  she  like  to  taste  one  of  those  apples.     She 
demurred  a  little,  and  said  she  was  told  not  to,  and 
therefore  mustn't.     But  he  pretended  to  pluck  one  of 
the  painted  apples  and  gave  it  to  her,  and  she  pretended 
to  eat  it.    He  then  told  her  to  ask  Adam  to  have  some, 
and  she  did.    Adam  objected  strongly  to  testing,  know- 
ing the  penalty,  but  Eve 'eventually  overcame  his  scru- 
ples, saying:  ''Oh,  my  dear,  they're  so  nice,  you  haven't 
any  idea,  and  that  nice  old  gentleman  here  (pointing 
to  the  Devil)   says  that  he  can  recommend  them,  and 
you  need  not  be  afraid  of  what  Jehovah  says." 

Adam  consented,  and  immediately  after  he  said,  "Oh, 
what^  have  I  done,  and  how  foolish  I  was  to  listen  to 
you."  He  then  said  he  could  see  himself,  and  that 
they  had  no  clothes  on,  and  that  they  must  sew  some 
fig-leaves  together.  Every  one  then  made  a  dive  for 
his  apron  out  of  the  little  bundle.  The  apron  is  a 
square  half-yard  of  green  silk  with  nine  fig-leaves 
worked  on  it  in  brown  sewing-silk.  A  voice  was  then 
heard  calling  for  Adam,  who  pretended  to  hide,  when 
in  came  Jehovah.  He  gave  Adam  a  good  scolding, 
but  finally  told  him  that  he  would  give  him  certain  in- 
structions, whereby  he  would  have  a  chance  to  regain 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

the  presence  of  his  Father  and  God  after  he  was  driven 
out  into  the  world.  These  instructions  consisted  of 
grips,  etc.,  and  the  garments  he  wore  would  protect 
him  from  all  evil.  (Mormons  say  of  these  garments 
that  the  pattern  was  revealed  direct  from  Heaven  to 
Joseph  Smith,  and  are  the  same  as  were  originally 
worn  by  Adam.) 

They  then  put  on  their  caps  and  moccasins,  the 
women's  caps  being  made  of  Swiss  muslin ;  it  is  one 
yard  square,  rounded  at  one  corner  so  as  to  fit  the 
head,  and  there  are  strings  on  it  which  tie  under  the 
chin.  The  moccasins  are  made  of  linen  or  calico.  The 
men's  are  made  exactly  like  those  of  pastry  cooks,  with 
a  bow  on  the  right  side.  I  should  here  mention,  before 
I  go  further,  that  Bathsheba  Smith  and  one  of  the 
priests  enacted  the  parts  of  Adam  and  Eve,  and  so 
stood  sponsors  for  the  rest  of  us,  who  were  individually 
supposed  to  be  Adams  and 'Eves. 

They  then  proceeded  to  give  us  the  first  grip  of  the 
Aaronic  or  Lesser  Priesthood,  which  consists  in  put- 
ting the  thumb  on  the  knuckle  of  the  index  finger,  and 
clasping  the  hands  round.  We  were  then  made  to 
swear  'To  obey  the  laws  of  the  Mormon  Church  and 
all  they  enjoin,  in  preference  to  those  of  the  United 
States."  The  penalty  for  revealing  this  grip  and  oath, 
is  that  you  will  have  your  throat  cut  from  ear  to  ear, 
and  your  tongue  torn  from  your  mouth,  and  the  sign 
of  the  penalty  is  drawing  the  hand  with  the  thumb 
pointing  toward  the  throat  sharply  across  and  bring- 
ing the  arm  to  the  level  of  the  square,  and,  with  the 
hand  upraised  to  Heaven,  swearing  to  abide  the  same. 

We  were  then  driven  out  of  this  into  the  room  called 
the  World,  where  there  were  three  men  standing  at  a 

150 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

small  altar  on  the  east  side  of  the  room,  who  were  sup- 
posed to  represent  Peter,  James,  and  John,  Peter  stand- 
ing in  the  center.  He  was  supposed  to  have  the  keys 
of  heaven.  Men  representing  (or  trying  to)  the  dif- 
ferent religious  sects  then  came  in  and  presented  their 
views  and  said  they  wanted  to  try  and  save  these  fallen 
children.  In  doing  this  they  could  not  refrain  from 
exaggerating  and  coarsely  satirizing  the  different  sects 
they  represented.  Previous  to  their  coming  in,  how- 
ever, Peter  had  presented  to  us  the  gospel  of  Christ — 
at  least  he  told  us  that  Christ  had  come  to  die  for  the 
original  sin,  but  that  we  had  got  to  work  out  our  own 
salvation,  and  that  in  the  last  days  a  prophet  should  be 
raised  up  to  save  all  those  that  would  believe  in  his 
divine  mission ;  consequently  these  different  representa- 
tives were  told  that  their  doctrines  did  not  suit  the 
people  and  that  there  was  something  wanting  in  their 
faith  and  so  they  could  go.  Then  the  Devil  came  in 
and  tried  to  allure  the  people,  and,  bustling  up  to  the 
altar,  Peter  said  to  him:  ''Hello,  Mr.  Devil,  how  do 
you  do  to-day?  It's  a  very  fine  day,  isn't  it?  What 
have  you  come  after?"  The  Devil  replied  that  he 
didn't  seem  to  take  to  any  of  those  so-called  Christian 
religions,  why  didn't  they  quit  bothering  about  any- 
thing of  that  kind,  and  live  a  life  of  pleasure,  etc.? 
However,  he  was  told  to  go,  and  that  quickly. 

Peter  then  gave  the  second  grip  of  the  Aaronic  or 
Lesser  Priesthood,  which  consists  of  putting  the  thumb 
between  the  knuckles  of  the  index  and  second  fingers 
and  clasping  the  hand  around.  The  penalty  for  re- 
vealing this  is  to  be  sawn  asunder^  and  our  members 
cast  into  the  sea.  The  sign  of  the  penalty  was  drawing 
the  hand  sharply  across  the  middle  of  the  body.     To 

151 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 


receive  that  grip  we  had  to  put  on  our  robes,  which 
consisted  of  a  long,  straight  piece  of  cloth  reaching  to 
our  feet,  doubled  over  and  gathered  very  full  on  the 
shoulder  and  round  the  waist.  There  was  also  a  long, 
narrow  piece  of  cloth  tied  around  the  waist,  called  the 
"sash."    It  was  placed  on  the  right  shoulder,  to  receive 


ent.  dres-g  room, 


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Stalrvay  to  Veil  and  SeaTIng  ro^tn 


IMIMHIIIIBIHII  I  I J 


GROUND  FLOOR  OF  THE  ENDOWMENT  HOUSE. 
Outer  Wall  Enclosing  Endowment  House. 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

the  grip,  the  people  to  wear  their  apron  over  it.  The 
men  then  took  the  oath  of  chastity,  and  the  women  the 
same ;  they  don't  consider  polygamy  at  all  unchaste,  but 
said  that  it  was  an  Heaven-ordained  law,  and  that  a 
man  to  be  exalted  in  the  world  to  come  must  have 
more  than  one  wife.  The  women  then  took  the  oath 
of  obedience  to  their  husbands,  having  to  look  up  to 
them  as  their  gods.  It  is  not  possible  for  a  woman  to 
go  to  Christ  except  through  her  husband. 

Then  a  man  came  in  and  said  that  the  Gospel  (which 
during  those  few  minutes'  intervals  had  laid  dormant 
for  1800  years)  had  been  again  restored  to  earth,  and 
that  an  angel  had  revealed  it  to  a  young  boy  named 
Joseph  Smith,  and  that  all  the  gifts,  blessings,  and 
prophecies  of  old  had  been  restored  with  it,  and  this 
last  revelation  was  to  be  called  the  Latter-day  Dis- 
pensation. The  priests  pretended  joyfully  to  accept 
this,  and  said  it  was  the  very  thing  they  were  in  search 
of,  nothing  else  having  had  the  power  to  satisfy  them. 

They  then  proceeded  to  give  us  the  first  grip  of  the 
Melchizedek  or  Higher  Priesthood,  which  is  said  to 
be  the  same  as  Christ  held.  The  thumb  is  placed  on 
the  knuckle  of  the  index  finger,  which  is  placed  straight 
along  the  palm  of  the  hand,  while  the  lower  part  of 
the  hand  is  clasped  with  the  remaining  fingers.  The 
robe  for  this  grip  was  changed  from  the  right  to  the 
left  shoulder.  We  were  then  made  to  swear  to  avenge 
the  death  of  Joseph  Smith,  the  martyr,  together  with 
that  of  his  brother,  Hyrum,  on  this  American  nation, 
and  that  we  would  teach  our  children  and  children's 
children  to  do  so.  The  penalty  for  this  grip  and  oath 
was  disembowelment. 

153 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

We  were  then  marched  into  the  northeast  room  (the 
men,  of  course,  always  going  first)  designated  the 
prayer  circle  room.  We  were  then  made  to  take  an 
oath  of 

OBEDIENCE   TO   THE    MORMON    PRIESTHOOD. 

And  now  the  highest  or  grandest  grip  of  the  Mel- 
chizedek  priesthood  was  given.    We  clasped  each  other 


fitalrwaj  to  Prayer  Circle  Vipovu 


O  o 

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garflage  Altar.         <> 


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UPPER  FLOOR  OF  THE  ENDOWMENT  HOUSK 

W — Windows — Steps. 

154 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

round  the  hand  with  the  point  of  the  index  finger  rest- 
ing on  the  wrist,  and  httle  fingers  firmly  Hnked  to- 
gether. The  place  on  the  wrist  where  the  index  finger 
points  is  supposed  to  be  the  place  where  Christ  was 
nailed  to  the  cross,  but  they  tore  out  and  He  had  to  be 
nailed  again ;  and  so  you  place  your  second  finger  be- 
side the  index  on  the  wrist ;  it  is  called  the 

SURE  SIGN  OF  THE  NAIL. 

And  if  the  grip  is  properly  given,  it  is  very  hard  to  pull 
apart.  The  robe  was  changed  from  the  left  to  the  right 
shoulder  to  receive  this  grip. 

The  men  then  formed  a  circle  round  the  altar,  finking 
their  arms  straight  across,  and  placed  their  hands  on 
one  another's  shoulders.  The  priest  knelt  at  the  altar 
and  took  hold  of  one  of  the  men's  hands  and  prayed. 
He  told  us  that  the  electric  current  of  prayer  passed 
through  the  circle  and  that  was  the  most  efficacious 
kind  of  prayer.  The  women  stood  outside  the  circle 
with  their  veils  covering  their  faces,  the  only  time  dur- 
ing the  ceremony  that  they  did  so. 

The  prayer  over,  they  all  trooped  up  the  staircase 
on  the  north  side  of  the  house,  into  the  room  called  the 
Instruction  Room,  where  the  people  sat  down  on 
benches  on  the  west  side  of  the  room.  Facing  them 
about  midway  between  floor  and  ceiling  was  a  wooden 
beam  that  went  across  the  room  from  north  to  south, 
and  from  which  was  suspended  a  dirty-looking  piece 
of  what  was  once  white  calico.  This  was  called  ''the 
Veil,"  and  is  supposed  to  be  in  imitation  of  the  one 
in  Solomon's  Temple.  On  this  veil  are  marks  like 
those  on  the  garments,  together  with  extra  holes  for 
putting  the  arms  through.     But  before  going  through 

155 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

the  veil,  we  received  a  general  outline  of  the  instruc- 
tions we  had  received  down-stairs.  This  over,  the 
priest  took  a  man  to  the  veil  to  one  of  the  openings 
(marked  i),  where  he  knocked  with  a  small  wooden 
mallet  that  hung  on  the  wooden  support.  A  voice  on 
the  other  side  of  the  veil  (it  was  supposed  to  be 
Peter's)  asked  who  was  there,  when  the  priest,  answer- 
ing for  the  man,  said :  "Adam,  having  been  faithful, 
desires  to  enter."  The  priest  then  led  the  man  up  to 
the  west  side  of  the  veil,  where  he  had  to  put  his  hands 


THE  ROBE. 
156 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

through  and  clasp  the  man,  or  Peter  (to  whom  he  whis- 
pered his  new  name,  and  the  only  one  he  ever  tells,  for 
they  must  never  tell  their  celestial  names  to  their  wives, 
although  the  wives  must  tell  theirs  to  their  husbands) 
through  the  holes  in  the  veil.  He  was  then  allowed  to 
go  through  to  the  other  side,  which  was  supposed  to 
be  heaven,  and  this  is  where  a  strong  imagination  must 
be  of  some  use,  for  anything  more  unlike  heaven  I 
can't  conceive.  The  man  having  got  through,  he  went 
to  the  opening  (No.  2)  and  told  the  gatekeeper  to  call 
for  the  woman  he  was  about  to  marry,  telling  him  her 
name.  She  then  stepped  up  to  the  veil  where  the 
marks  "B"  are.  They  couldn't  see  each  other,  but  put 
their  hands  through  the  openings,  one  of  their  hands  on 
each  other's  shoulder  and  the  other  around  the  waist. 
(The  marks  on  the  plan  at  the  sides  are  for  the  arms, 
and  all  the  marks  in  the  plan  on  the  veil  are  exactly 
as  they  are  in  the  Endowment  House.  The  top  round 
mark  is  the  place  where  they  spoke  through,  and  the 
square,  compass,  and  stone  correspond  with  the  marks 
on  the  garments ;  the  two  bottom  marks  were  where  the 
feet  are  put  through),  with  the  arms  so  fixed;  the 
knees  were  placed  within  each  other,  the  feet,  of 
course,  being  the  same ;  the  woman's  given  name  was 
then  whispered  through  the  veil,  then  her  new  and 
celestial  name,  then  the  priestess  who  stood  by  to  in- 
struct the  women  told  them  to  repeat  after  her  a  most 
disgusting  formula  or  oath.  I  cannot  remember  it 
thoroughly,  but  what  I  do,  consists  of  ''the  heart  and 
the  liver,  the  belly  and  the  thighs,  the  marrow  and  the 
bones."  The  last  and  highest  grip  of  the  ^lelchizedek 
priesthood  was  then  given  through  the  veil. 

They  then  released  their  hold  of  each  other,  and  the 

157 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

priestess,  taking  the  woman  to  opening  No.  2,  knocked 
the  same  as  they  did  at  the  men's  entrance,  and  the 
gatekeeper  having  asked,  ''Who  is  there?"  and  the 
priestess,  having  repHed,  "Eve,  having  been  faithful 
in  all  things,  desires  to  enter,"  Eve  was  accordingly 
ushered  into  heaven. 

Before  I  go  further  I  must  tell  how  they  believe  the 
entrance  into  heaven  is  to  be  gained  on  the  morning 
of  the  resurrection.  Peter  will  call  up  the  men  and 
women  (for  it  is  not  possible  for  a  woman  to  be  resur- 
rected or  exalted,  or  to  be  made  a  queen  in  heaven, 
unless  some  man  takes  pity  on  her  and  raises  her).    If 


WOMAN'S  CAP  AND  MOCCASIN. 
158 


THE  REVELATION  IN   THE  MOUNTAIN. 

the  marks  on  the  garments  are  found  to  correspond 
with  those  on  the  veil  (the  dead  are  buried  in  the 
whole  paraphernalia),  if  you  can  give  the  grips  and 
tokens,  and  your  new  name,  and  you  are  dressed  prop- 
erly in  your  robes,  why,  then,  one  has  a  sure  permit 
to  heaven,  and  will  pass  by  the  angels  (who,  they  sup- 
pose, are  to  be  only  ministering  servants)  to  a  more 
exalted  glory;  the  more  wives  they  have,  they  think, 
the  higher  their  glory  will  be. 

To  resume :  x\fter  we  got  through,  we  saw  Joseph 
F.  Smith  sitting  at  a  table  recording  the  names  of 
those  who  were  candidates  for  marriage.  He  wrote 
the  names  in  a  book  (the  existence  of  which  marriage 
register  this  truthful  apostle  has  since  denied,  so  that  a 
polygamous  marriage  might  not  be  found  out)  and 
then  he  wrote  the  two  names  on  a  slip  of  paper,  to  be 
taken  into  the  sealing-room  to  the  officiating  priest,  so 
that  he  might  know  whom  he  was  marrying.  After 
having  given  this  slip  of  paper  to  the  priest  (Daniel 
H.  Wells),  we  knelt  at  a  little  wooden  altar  (they  are 
all  alike  in  the  Endowment  House).  He  then  asks  the 
man  if  he  is  willing  to  take  the  woman  to  wife,  and  the 
woman  if  she  is  willing  to  take  him  for  a  husband. 
They  both  having  answered  yes,  he  tells  the  man  that 
he  must  look  to  God,  but  the  woman  must  look  to  her 
husband  as  her  God,  for  if  he  lives  his  religion,  the 
spirit  of  God  will  be  in  him,  and  she  must  therefore 
yield  him  unquestioning  obedience,  for  he  is  as  a  god 
unto  her,  and  then  concludes  that  he,  having  authority 
from  on  high,  to  bind  and  loose  here  upon  earth,  and 
whatsoever  he  binds  here  shall  be  bound  in  heaven, 
seals  the  man  and  woman 

159 


'!i:?B8aa8HSiB)?ip«}HjnHfinnRRnOTn!mn 


THE  REVELATION  IN  THE  MOUNTAIN. 

FOR   TIME  AND   ALL   ETERNITY. 

He  then  tells  the  man  and  woman  to  kiss  each  other 
across  the  altar,  the  man  kneeling  on  the  north  side 
and  the  woman  on  the  south,  and  so  it  is  finished. 
Sometimes  they  have  witnesses,  sometimes  not ;  if  they 
think  any  trouble  may  arise  from  a  marriage  or  that 
the  woman  is  inclined  to  be  a  little  perverse,  they  have 
no  witnesses,  neither  do  they  give  marriage  certificates, 
and  if  occasion  requires  it,  and  it  is  to  shield  any  of 
their  polygamous  brethren  from  being  found  out,  they 
wdll  positively  swear  that  they  did  not  perform  any 
marriage  at  all,  so  that  the  women  in  this  church  have 
but  a  very  poor  outlook  for  being  considered  honorable 
wives. 

When  the  marriage  ceremony  was  over  we  came  out 
of  the  *'sealing-room,"  and  I  crossed  "Heaven"  into 
the  ladies'  dressing-room,  where,  after  having  dressed 
and  my  husband  paid  the  fees,  we  took  our  departure, 
together  with  that  of  the  "Holy  Spirit." 


MAN'S  CAR 

I  hope  that  this  article  may  prove  of  some  use  in 
warning  and  enlightening  people  as  to  that  most 
HORRID  BLASPHEMY,  jargou,  and  mummery  that  goes 
on  in  that  most  sacred  "House  of  the  Lord." 

MRS.  G.  S.  R . 

THE   END. 

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